October 2, 2014

Putting Away Baby Things by Lindsey Bellosa

Certain things never worked out: 
cloth diapers, five pacifiers— 
one with a mustache. 

Packing up too-small shirts, 
tiny socks without mates, 
missing remote controls, 

a yellow blanket that clung 
as I lifted: warm, bird-ribbed; 
your mouth, dreaming of me. 

Now that time has passed— 
another bag under the bed; 
the muscle memory of you, 

tucked under my chin, hair smudged 
from palms cupping your head— 
sleeping bulb of new life. 

I pack longing around these things 
like earth. Memory is a flowerbed— 
failed attempts, moments frail as lilies.









Lindsey Bellosa lives in Syracuse, NY.  She has an MA in Writing from the National University of Ireland, Galway and has poems published in both Irish and American journals: most recently The Comstock Review, The Galway Review, IthacaLit, Crannog and The MOON Magazine.  Her first chapbook, The Hunger, was published with Willet Press in 2014. 

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