Poem: A Gift of Buttons

A thin pocketbook and a full heart.

A Gift of Buttons

What can it mean and why these?
Of all the possibilities
for your anticipation,
your understanding,
your today,
your tomorrow

And yet these caught my wandering
Stopped me dead in aimless tracks
Said to me, you are there,
this makes sense,
don’t think about it,
don’t come back later

Made by hand, each slightly different
The imperfection of human touch
Laid out like so many dinner rolls,
a confectioner’s frosting,
glazed and then the kiln,
a second kiln, then a third

Why twelve? Not by chance
Nine were not enough,
fifteen beyond my reach
Every day a compromise
between need and real need,
words and necessary words

It’s too much and nowhere near enough,
to touch your collar, dress your front
Closure of breast-pocket or sleeve,
the gift of no money,
the gift of my arrested step,
the gift of buttons
Poetry Collection: Corner of My Mind
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection

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