how many times had she passed by
that tree
and not seen?
how long had that trinket
winked at her
under withering sun?
how crammed full
did the knot hole have to get
before she realized
those gifts were for her?

it was only when
she became much lighter,
a child, really—

it was only when
she shed something heavy,
flung it over her shoulder
and didn’t look back
(maybe once. okay, twice)—

it was only when
her sneaker-steps slowed
and her eyes remembered
peripheral vision:

it was then
that she approached
that tree,
looked around and wondered,
was this a mistake?,
then filled
empty waiting pockets,
slowly;

it was then
that she began
storing grace in a
cigar box;

gifts so simple,
(‘tis a gift to be!),
she dared not handle them too often.
knowing they were there
was enough:

two soap dolls…
(one a smaller version of the other;
a matching set)
a broken watch and chain…
(no need to get it fixed,
who needs perfect time?)
and her life.


the film