ERAT HORA
She placed her jacks back in their small red box
then squeezed her red rubber ball hard as prayer.
A spot behind a technical handbook
she built for storing childish things awaits
her hand’s push to complete the hiding rite.
Underground trains are less patient than toys,
she knows. A grown up now, she dons her age
as disguise. Frowns. Nothing can take away
her morning’s playtime with a ball and jacks.
Editor's Note: Please read Ezra Pound's "Erat Hora" for further context.
Mark J. Mitchell has been a working poet for 50 years. He’s the author of five full-length collections, and six chapbooks. His latest collection is Something To Be from Pski’s Porch Publishing. He also has a novel titled A Book of Lost Songs from Histria Books. He’s fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Dante, and his wife, activist Joan Juster. He lives in San Francisco where he points out pretty things.
Grand Little Things 