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She held in nimble but shaky sheltered hand,
floating on a sheet of finest silk,
a carved ivory silver-capped thimble.

At age eighty-nine, it was her prized possession,
holding it dear and too close to see
the tiny crack along an ivory vine.

She was here to get it appraised,
handing it reluctantly to the curator
who took it with much revere.

He found the ivory, on closer inspection,
hid hundreds of hairline fractures and
ages of men, committing atrocity.

© Richard Sanders 2013

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Todays featured poem comes from Richard Sanders. Our first piece from him, it evokes a sense of the passage of time, of memory and the myriad experiences of life. It paints an unusual, retrospective picture, and a story that is at first familiar and simple, but on further reading reveals layers of complexity and meaning.

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