Hope Chest



The father joined some slabs of clear white pine
making place he thought for gowns and laces. 
The daughter wondered why her young men’s faces

always made him silently malign
appearances and mock their vague intent.
Wooden then he saw her binding blankets, fold-

ing sheets against the dream of fleeting cold
never knowing what such things have meant.
What else than pillowcases stained and frayed

linens raveled, trailing dingy strings
behind like shreds of promises betrayed
and herself undone could else have taught her?

He made the chest for holding finer things
and her for something finer than what got her.

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