To be honest, no other exchanges have arrived. And so, I'm continuing this series on my own. Not all by my lonesome, but in the company of words.
The poetry of Susanna J. Mishler is on my mind today.
"What Fits Neatly in a Hand"
A pebble. An earring. A stack
of dimes. A little water,
and the reflection of something small
or distant in the sky.
A toy fighter plane.
Not a live goldfish, but a dead one.
Not the other hand--
A matchbook, a moth. A cupboard hinge.
A tooth. Pieces
of broken things, wristwatch gears,
plate shards, ashes. The curve
of an infant's head.
Crumbled plaster. A chipped button
sewn to a shirt scrap.
An ice cube--briefly.
Not the curled edges of burning paper.
Not an aspen, but a lemon seed.
The opposable thumb. Two aspirin.