Ownership

mine is a life of things—
my grandmother’s eggbeater,
the green painted handle
worn smooth
by the same hand that fed the hens
and gathered the eggs,
that measured the salt
the flour, the milk
and flipped the pancakes
as I do now

things
like the cradle fashioned by
my grandfather’s hands,
that held first the grandbabies
and when they had grown,
the great grandbabies

and now cradles my childhood dolls

things
like the jackknife that lived
in my father’s pants pocket—
that freed tangled kite strings
and fishing line, opened can tops,
cut forked branches
for roasting marshmallows


things like my mother’s
green china teapot—
memories pouring from the
spout, as warm and welcome
as the lemon cookies on
the saucer underneath my
own cup