It’s a bit like a woman’s button tin.
I’ve still got the galvanized bolts
from when I dismantled Lucy’s barn,
the remnant three inch steel countersunks
that hoisted Annabella’s pantry shelf.

Last night a two inch brass round head
took me across two meadows, a stile,
and I’m smiling at myself again
in Betty’s rosewood-framed mirror.


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