I
imagine
it blue or green. I am certain
it is a button. So sure I am that I don’t smell it.
Everyone had a parka, right? With thick buttons a mother
could fasten wearing gloves. It is the right size and has no
corners. My finger lolls its smooth belly from side
to side. Its top is crenulated like a slumping
stocking cap or the tented crowns of a
Russian orthodox church. I mistake
the shank for what remained
of the acorn’s style. Once
I say acorn it’s
over.
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