Alphabet City

In the box she kept
more than the stubs,
the ripped ends of tickets
to everywhere.

The wood-frame held the scent,
and newness of old days:
the landscape and promise
of remnant years.

Buttons, and curls,
and postage stamps,
cancelled from missives
Par Avion

Assorted rings and tie pins,
a sonogram, a hospital bracelet,
a telegram from Iwo,
and even a dried, powdered navel
(I swear that this is true!)

Safety pins,
old Polaroids, a radiated dime
from the ’63 World’s Fair.

A small square swatch
of fabric for a living room
that never saw the light of day
through tenement windows

Mass cards,
an old token,
a rubber coochie coin purse,
and a faded picture
of me.

© Chagall, 2013