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Art Class
The small bowl sits in the corner
Ceramic, lopsided, and beige
Small fingers impressed in the clay
Snake curled in the bottom awaits
Made for her momma in art class
Wee age of seven or eight
Initials inscribed at the bottom
A determined look on her face
Not really meant for her momma
Never liked her too much even then
But she did what her teacher told her
And offered it up mournfully
Mementos and pictures torn down
Sweet face and blonde pigtails a dream
The small bowl still sits in the corner
Snake curled at the bottom stares through
It catches the ashes that burn
From the incense she lights every night
Snake lurking below the embers
Of the fire that’s burning her heart
Copyright ©
Wendy Stein
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