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Toppie the Elephant
There was once
a pink plaid elephant
whose trunk I kissed to sleep.
I won her fair and square—
a coloring contest,
Top Value Stamps.
She slept beside me
every night.
Her trunk, softened by chewing.
One ear, forever folding
from a bent wire frame.
And a stab wound—
just below her left flank—
a potato peeler,
courtesy of my sister.
Then one day,
she vanished.
We moved.
Boxes swallowed childhood things.
Grown-ups said nothing.
I missed her for fifty years
until one day
I typed her name into eBay—
a whisper
into a well
not expecting an answer.
And there she was—
chewed trunk,
crumpled ear,
scar stitched
in the same exact place.
Time is a circle.
And miracles wear plaid.
I held her in both hands,
afraid to blink.
She’d come back.
She had always
been coming back.
Copyright ©
Roxanne Andorfer
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