By Linda Brainerd
The cedar chest smelled musty and forbidding.
It held props for her part, she who passed off-stage
leaving bits and pieces
of that act: a yellowed collar, sachets,
snapshots of another time…
a brown bear, made of paper
with such a queer eye. She
made it, I say,
before clocks,
not understanding.
Copyright 2007 Linda Brainerd
Linda Brainerd was a journalism major in college. During college she wrote news for a San Diego TV station; after college she worked at a small weekly newspaper outside Sacramento. She has worked with writing groups in San Diego, Sacramento, and Santa Barbara, and has written poetry and short stories with the Legacy Writers since its inception on Lopez.
All work by Linda Brainerd
