Stacy Lynn Mar
Small Boxes Closing
Yesterday is a small box closing
Upon each one of my bones, those warriors.
Primitive, I am a shadow of the woman ancestor
Who sanctioned for me parts of herself.
Small hands, those tiny caterpillars that bloomed
And grew and wrinkled, and held on till time broke.
Bright blue eyes, wishing specters, unwilling participants
To the insubordination and inconsistency of faltering promises.
I am part of that woman-past, I am reminiscent of her girlhood.