Collector’s Auction

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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

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Art Courtesy of Daniel Madison. All done from scratch for this poem, He is so talented!

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