Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Lost Glove

Someone lost a glove last week...
during the winter storm.
When the snow melted, the glove was there,
black cotton fingers limp, in the mud.
I passed the glove on my way to the park
and thought how sorry someone would be
when he reached into a pocket to find only one,
shaking his chapped hand...
looking behind...
looking down...
patting the other pocket...
Frustrated,
tucking both bare hands
deep in his coat, squeezing the lone glove in his fist.
What good was one
without the other?

The next day someone had moved the lost glove,
sticking it high on a garden stake, marking the spot
where a new tree had been planted last summer.
The glove slumped, its fingers sagging loosely.
Then the wind lifted,
the fingers fluttered,
a half-hearted wave...
hopeful.

That night, I passed the glove once more.
My dog strained against her collar,
pulling me through the fog.
The glove was reaching skyward...
toward the hidden moon.
I dared not look back.
My own hands inside my gloves,
clinging to the leash,
trembling...
but warm.
I'd hate to lose a glove on a foggy winter night.

9 comments:

  1. Isn't it fun musing the life of found/lost objects? I love the way you created this. Your words so descriptive: limp, chapped,slumped. Now I will be on the lookout for something to bring to life.

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  2. Lori, this is a wonderful small moment slice that leads to introspection and what ifs. I love the poem format. Have you seen my invitation to create? Here it is in case you are interested: http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2016/01/invitation-to-create.html

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  3. I lost a glove last year and still wonder where it is and what kinds of adventures it is having. Love the poem.

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  4. I love this piece of poetry, Lori. I love the deep thinking you did about a lost object. How would you feel about me using it as one of the "Be Inspired" pieces next week for the March SOLSC? If that would be okay with you, then please email me today at stacey[at]staceyshubitz[dot]com. I just need to have your permission in an email (along with the permalink). THANKS!

    BTW: One of warm gloves flew out of my car last year while I was trying to get my daughter out of the back seat of my car. I watched it fly away. It was the glove or her and I choose to stay with her (obviously). I still think about that glove often -- on cold days -- and wonder if anyone had thought as deeply about it as you did about the black glove you found.

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  5. That's lovely - I leave your poem with that image of the glove reaching to the sky.

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  6. That's lovely - I leave your poem with that image of the glove reaching to the sky.

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  7. I like that the half-hearted wave is hopeful. Seeing the lost half of a pair, we can hope for it to be reunited with its mate...

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  8. I like that the half-hearted wave is hopeful. Seeing the lost half of a pair, we can hope for it to be reunited with its mate...

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  9. Such a thoughtful poem. I liked how it went over a couple of days too. :)

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