The painting had lain forgotten in a cupboard for years. by Marion Rankine

It was a Christmas gift from their mother, crafted in a period of low funds and high homemade ideals. She hated it. So did he. But they’d never thought to throw it out, because it was a Christmas gift from their mother. She wiped at a moist sifting of plaster dust on her upper lip.
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in winter
the foggy season veils
the tiny towns
from wanting. no prayer
flag decore or giant forks about,
simply shush the lagoon
around the mossy redwoods
and you will find home.