Lost Objects, Upcycled

Another lost shoe, a tiny slip-on for a baby.
We stood over it.  Pondered.  Would the mom
push past this same spot again and see it? 

I imagined dozens of moms, walking, talking
into a phone or to themselves, so much to do
checking on clients, planning for company. 

The baby, ignored, is busy, too, watching
clouds overhead, discovering hands and toes,
flinging out caps, mittens, socks and shoes. 

I searched once for my husband’s lost glasses. 
Not lost.  They knew where they were.   A skinny
young mall cop thrust out his chest, They’d bring them to me. 

We left the shoe on the walk, speculated on its future
as a found object in an artist’s collage, like the pacifier
someone finally hung on a tree like an ornament.

 
 
Mary C. Rowin

Mary C. Rowin

Curiosity is what drives Mary C. Rowin’s writing.  She is eager to learn and know the whereabouts of things.  Mary has a poem about teaching English as a Second Language forthcoming in you are here, The Journal of Creative Geography.