Notes About The Poem
image from freepik.com
INVENTORY OF HOPE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The toolbox lid screeched~
a rusted complaint
against my insistence.
Inside: not wrenches,
but sepia toned photos~
Granny laughing in her kitchen, 1953;
a grocery list “milk, bread, forgiveness”
a psalm fragment glued to bent tin—
“though weeping tarries…”
words bleeding into rust.
Underneath the tray, coiled like a promise~
Uncle Frank’s fishing line, still knotted
to a hook
that snagged nothing
but river ghosts
for thirty years.
Wedged in the corner—
a lottery ticket, expired,
numbers smudged
by thumbprints
that pressed
too hard.
Uncle Frank never won.
But every Tuesday, he’d unfold
that flimsy paper at the diner counter,
coffee steaming~
“Hope’s a stubborn stain,” he’d rasp,
tapping the numbers.
Tonight, rain needles the roof.
I lay the relics on his workbench~
the brittle psalm,
the lost fish,
the ticket dreaming of jackpots
in landfill silence.
No miracles here~
only the quiet hum
of what endures:
the unpegged certainty
that dawns keep coming,
that love stitches its repair
in the dark,
with thread unseen.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
