Collector's Auction Have you ever smelt a newborn baby’s feet? Not quite the kind of question to ask a stranger but Then again neither is “will you kiss me?” She asked him both over a cup of chai tea She was untamed and uncertain She threw confetti in her pancakes And insisted she would live to see Oprah marry Nelson Mandela, can you imagine the children? No one really knew what to do with her In fact, no one really knew her And that alone bothered her just enough To move from state to state Looking for the right barber shop to shave meaning into her flighty collarbones Her ribcage was a bookshelf of Hershey kisses She gave them to herself to cover every mistake She promised her heart she wouldn’t turn the marks into self-loathing so she gave every rung a chocolate kiss, each with a little tongue Grocery bags fascinated her She was convinced people collected Their pain in them, like the Bags full of empty bottles she finds by her father’s night stand each day He taught her Empty was a choice, and so was Smiling, so she smiled even when she cried She made sandpaper dolls And earrings out of doorknobs Hoping the unlikely things could Become beautiful, maybe one day she too could join the collectors auction It didn’t take long for her to learn the art of making a home She collected pockets of empty and used the space So everything in her didn’t quite feel so crowded Home is where the heart is, they say, to her that meant home was in her own chest cavity, so she made it livable, beautiful And one without any of those pesky crumbs of self-doubt
Art Courtesy of Daniel Madison. All done from scratch for this poem, He is so talented!