Her Bracelets

She called on me from her chair next

To where the light came into the

Room, on her wrist; swung her bracelets

Colored in an Indian style,

Her bosom rested pleasantly,

Her hips were like a wool blanket,

She gave her child a doll with a

Graceful beak made by her mom; a

Doll of a nightingale that she

Placed on her bosom, she took it

Everywhere and she soiled it

And cried on it; her favorite toy.