Best Poems Written by Ilene Huffman

Gladys's Ovaries

Not round or square
maybe slightly dented.
They are out of place,
removed during summerís heat.
She sits by her window
looking at the children play;
None are her own.
She daydreams of breast feedings
while she sits near her window.
She memorizes their faces.
Her ovaries are lost.
Somewhere in a jar?
Somewhere in a box?
No cocoon to look forward to,
no womb to caress.
Her ovaries are in a tin,
in a drawer,
in her brain,
tucked away deep in her thoughts.

Copyright © Ilene Huffman | Year Posted 2005