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I counted sewing pins

in the pin cushion before

and after I sewed your

little dress for fear

a pin gone stray would

pierce your tender

roaming toddler feet

I seemed programmed to

meet your every need to

hear your every beat

who knew this mother

who turned down dolls

and played with balls and

trucks when she was a girl

would have a place

deep down inside herself

waiting glad to put all else aside

to catch your pointy pins

and drive you to your dreams


Susan Shea is a retired school psychologist who was raised in New York City. Since

she has returned to writing poetry this year, her poetry has been accepted in a few

dozen publications, including Feminine Collective, Ekstasis, Persimmon Tree

Literary Magazine, and The Avalon Literary Review.

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