Second Hand

I don’t care if all my life

every piece of furniture I own is

a hand

me

down.

I don’t mind thrift shop clothes.

I have never wanted a fancy car

just one that could get me

from point A

to

Point B

or maybe a truck

to haul home used furniture

and such. I am

function over form,

comfort over fashion,

and a whole lot of not

color coordinated towels.

I’m old quilted blankets

made with loving hands

from everyday scraps;

recognizing past versions of myself

in these puzzle pieces.

I am stone hedgerows

circling the fields

strong hands

fashioning the land.

Generations gone

but living still

coursing through my veins,

my values,

the very substance of my bones

– it all comes second hand.

 

 

 

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