Dusty Heirlooms of Portobello Market

by Nicole Trilivas

Our dreamscapes sprout from winter trees, easy
Especially after we drink from goblets that have known many a mouth,
Under crystalline canopies, mind your head
We listen for caged birds that sing (and isn’t that just the audacity of hope?)
All the while we whisper: Here, kitty kitty, who’s the proud poodle now?
Click, click, boom and hope to rope what our memory can’t (because this is present tense)
Here, in a carnival of dust.
I see someone frozen in time, and think, “Someone once loved her.”
A little girl Duchess of Dreamland, to some daddy
And we purchase relics, and we ask ourselves, what do we inherit
Besides a million sparkly things?

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