Main Street Nursery

They quiver
with the motion of her hand
and she calls them pretty.
No one comes 

here without joy.
Fiber filagree adds color 
miracles. Needy, pretty,
drizzled. Shivering.
 
as she moves them.
The women tote
them, arranging and
mixing them in the sun.
 
Life is in whispers,
lighter than gauze,
the shuffle of breath,
the brush of tooth on lip.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

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