Teak and Bone

by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

By the snowy river,
its surface of china blue,
she lived in a mobile home,
outside her door wind chimes
of teak and bone. The strong
one in her family, taking care
of her mother and two younger
sisters long after her father had
gone. The scent of bentwood
broken from a tamarack tree
is on her skin having chopped
it with her own hands, tough
as a lumberjack at age fifteen,
living on welfare like everyone
else does in the woods and a
deadbeat father who can’t be
found; his only belongings she
sold not long ago, proof of his
death found just five months
ago, and like all the other
uneducated ilk around her she
says “reckon.” Her mother is
too ill so she teaches her young
sisters how to catch fish and
possum, saving money every
week for canned food, but not
enough to afford a book.
Outside is the impatient snow
covering the grave marker
she’d once left in loving
memory of her father.


Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing