I’m sure I get it wrong
all the time, playing archeologist
to fragments of my parents’ lives
using my memories and a small brush.
Slept in a pool hall?
Lived over the storefront?
One morning I found
myself woken by a child at the side
of my bed, holding the bones of
my toes in his hand like he’d
freed them from caked dirt.
He shook the bones
in his hand–a pair of dice–and asked
about of my kindergarten class.
You wore a plaid dress?
That tall kid cut the sleeve?
If they ever reconstruct
the pieces of pottery that were
1973, they should set it spinning
to some kind of needle.
What did that room sound
like? I remember the accent
was so soft. Clay. Putty. Salted dough.
–Louise Robertson has earned degrees (BA Oberlin, MFA George Mason University), poetry publications (Pudding Magazine, Crack the Spine, Borderline–among others) and poetry awards (Mary Roberts Rinehart, Columbus Arts Festival Poetry Competition–among others). Brick Cave Media recently published her full-length book, The Naming Of (December 2015). She is active as a poet and organizer in her local Columbus, Ohio poetry scene. Also, someone once said about Robertson that, underneath it all, she is kind.