ELIZABETH ONESS
AT THE CHURCH HALL RUMMAGE SALE
Paisley shirts with pointed collars,
chunk-heeled sandals, children’s toys,
I stop for pie with latticed crust,
children selling lemonade.
A wall-eyed man with a crucifix
touches a musical jewelry box–
the plastic ballerina will not turn
on her velvet ledge. A mirror holds
her frozen arabesque. I touch
a corset whose form I couldn’t fill,
its lengthened ribs and jutting cups
an ample woman’s shape. I imagine
swelling flesh above the girded sides,
like warm bread rising
past the lip of a pan, a woman
who knew the secrets of laughter
and long marriage. A dogwood blooms
in the open window, white petals open
like a palm raised in prayer. Once I believed
in lives more simple than mine.
