The Lady at the Dumptique
By Leroy Hazelton
Once she prayed for this
Bottom of a butter dish,
Chipped of course,
That would almost fit the top
Her grandmother gave her long ago,
Saying to her,
“You’ll know when the bottom finds you,
You will remember.”
It remained in her memory for years
Like a yellowed bone.
But now she no longer knew or
Any longer cared.
She was only here this morning
Passing time
When her hand reached
Into a box of castaways
That did not matter yesterday,
When it pushed up silent
From the sodden cardboard
To reach her fingers,
Just soft enough.
Leroy Hazelton lives in Vineyard Haven, and volunteers at Chicken Alley.
Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems to community@mvtimes.com.
