Artifacts

Poetry day 6 of 31

Photo by Claudia van Zyl on Unsplash

Hair curlers, the kind with bristles
that poke the skin of your hands as
you roll it back and forth and back —
she slept in them every night
along with her white nightgown,
printed with flowers, reaching to the floor
covering soft skin that smelled of baby powder
And then there is her name tag
for the job she worked until
she was too sick to go on
and for a little longer than that besides
now I keep it in a draw…