Two Poems By Jane Kennedy Mitchell

Four Ages of One Woman

She with womb wanted to know,
But womb won; it made her glow.

Then she shattered in her home;
Raked up pieces with a comb.

Then she struggled with her job
Loss of mission made her sob.

Now she cleans off the clock;
Tamely, she’ll slip beneath a rock.
My Gifts to You

In your closet, I found my gifts to you,
cards tucked beneath ribbons carefully curled,
sleek white boxes unsealed, then shut from view.

Wrinkle-free, in flattering grays, sky blue,
slid under mounds of your proper wear furled,
in your closet, I found my gifts to you.

Elegant, with flair, right trendy when new,
I opened them—still pristine—striped, solid, swirled,
sleek white boxes unsealed, then shut from view.

More gifts, from others, waited in the queue,
uncalled-for, unused, gilded and pearled.
In your closet, I found my gifts to you.

Lotions to soothe, a pot for fondue,
sculpted goat soaps, Grand Puzzle of the World,
sleek white boxes unsealed, then shut from view.

Forgotten, after notes of thanks were through,
tagged sweaters, jackets—a pen of oak, burled.
In your closet I found my gifts to you,
sleek white boxes unsealed, then shut from view.

Jane Kennedy Mitchell’s poems are often set in rural New York, where she grew up,
or in rural Virginia, where she writes now. She loves musicality in poetry and refreshes
her sound palette in a recorder group, a garage band, and Richmond poetry jams.

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