After her death,
We cleared out Mother’s house.
Among the found things were
A stained brown envelope with a marriage license from 1932
A jewelry chest full of baubles we never saw her wear
In with the baubles, wrapped in plastic, someone’s baby teeth
An old leather bound Bible we never saw her read
Pressed within its pages, a ringlet of hair, mine I am sure
A four leaf clover
A dried dragonfly
My baby picture, wallet size
In her ancient trunk,
A folded fur, musty smelling
A letter belonging to her mother, who had a lover, dated 1887
Inside the fur, opera glasses
A moth-eaten raggedy Ann (her childhood friend?)
Hat boxes without hats
In fuzzy black and white, she and Dad on the grass
A new brown envelope from the Hospital
She never showed us, never showed us.
All gone now.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.