In the middle of an antique shop is a desk
Oh, this beautiful desk with its scratches and chips
They say I do not want this desk
Oh, but how I do
Why I want it, do not know
It is so plain and shabby
With its scratches and chips
How did they get there?
This desk is well loved
Oh how well loved it was
And it well be
For I want this desk
That no one else wants
When I get it home
To its new home
And open the desk I find a picture
An old black and white picture
That is yellowing on the edges
But oh the picture it’s of a fine lady standing
Standing next to a desk the same desk
That this picture came from.
As I slowly and carefully turn the brittle picture over
I find the words Mrs. Jessica Smith
Oh
My mother’s name
My mother who died of childbirth
Who died of giving birth to me
Oh how long I have always wanted something of my mothers
Now I have the desk where she put those scratches and chips
Oh those starches and chips
The starches and chips my mother made
Oh the antique desk that no one wanted is mine
What ya think
Comments
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This was a very interesting piece. It seems to hold so much personality and depth to you. Though to a reader ... a stranger... it is not all that much more than another piece of poetry to gape at. I did find your admiration for this desk and your mother beautiful... however this piece wasn't really all that... alive. It didn't speak to me in way that I believe it could have. It needs more passion.
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thanks for the cretic
although truth be told this poem has no personal meaning other than i wrote it. I saw this desk in the store and wondered and so here is the poem thanks though
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