Short Trousseau Poems

mom's trousseau
embroidered pillowcases
   his and hers



posted on June 18, 2018...

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Took Her Trusseau

Looked great wherever she would go
And this I must make sure you know;
Feature identifying;
She was supplying;
We could always tell by her trousseau.

Jim Horn...

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I’m wed to my Poetry,
betrothed to the fire

Each word an incendiary,
burned to inspire

My voice the rekindling,
fueling the scream

The ashes my trousseau 
—a smoldering dream

(Bryn Mawr College: January, 2020)...

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The kingdom of knowledge
  to its crown we are wed

Its light our betrothal
  its heavens our bed

The words ever regal
  trousseau not to beg

Thus will it be written
  —thus will it be said

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)...

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chipmunk pauses under blossoms of spring
pondering her future?
anticipating an enemy?
planning her trousseau?
expecting a model’s fee?
No matter.

She is captured in time, by the whir of a button.
Saved and uploaded onto a computer.
A memory caught in mid step.
I smile as she fills my screen.
My new screen saver.
My favorite photo of the week.
Maybe of the month....

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Weep willow weep your weary winter woe
At the sight of your icy, new trousseau,
Above the frosted brook, a mirror faux
Her reflection was horribly so-so,
With rigid branches laced in flakey snow 
White, a favorite color, not hers though,
Clear crystals clung, dressing her to and fro
All stitched on by a hand who did not sew, 
Frozen stiff, her tears slow their new tempo.



(November 8th, 2022)...

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When just a child so young
I saw it in your home
The very beautiful vase
That sat on a shelf alone

A vase of glass cut so fine
It held a single rose divine
Admiring it from afar
At home we only had a jar

Our furnishing were simple
In our home there was no plan
It was not designed by a master
We did the best that we could demand

How could I ever imagine
A vase just so refine
You would put in my trousseau
So I could have a rose divine...

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