25 April

Day 25

Prompt from Poetry Society - what do you collect and why

Collection (1)

I wish I’d found among my lost possessions,

that old, round box with the sharp lipped catch,

an antique, made of Bakelite,

an ordinary heirloom, a memorium

and opened it, shaking it first ,

to hear them rattle against

each other, in their hundreds,

all the regrets

my mother collected and kept together in one

special container. I have none for mine,

just leave them scattered so anyone can find them

All hers, I have inherited but lost –

the mother of pearl, the plain brown round, the gilt,

the thin white plastic, little beads of glass,

twin eye on each to see the in and out

of thread not taken, or the wrong fed in

When I come to think of it,

I wish I could find it now- there are things

that need repairing,

coats don’t simply fasten on their own

But you've come to the wrong person -

I can’t sew this on,

I can hardly use a needle,

prick my finger, witch and maiden

Yet, I could simply do this, as I used to -

dive my fingers in the button box

and stir up all these little empty faces,

letting them slip between

You could hear them, all the regrets, from here -

clacking and purring between my fingers,

nothing but totems and charms, each powerful

and dangerous - such potential to be useful