Clever and Poor Poem By V. Penelope Pelizzon

Clever and Poor Poem By V. Penelope Pelizzon

She has always been clever and poor,
especially here off the Yugoslav train
on a crowded platform of dust. Clever was
her breakfast of nutmeg ground in water
in place of rationed tea. Poor was the cracked
cup, the missing bread. Clever are the six
handkerchiefs stitched to the size of a scarf
and knotted at her throat. Poor is the thin coat
patched with cloth from the pockets
she then sewed shut. Clever is the lipstick,

Petunia Pink, she rubbed with a rag on her nails.
Poor nails, blue with the cold. Posed
in a cape to hide her waist, her photograph
was clever. Poor then was what she called
the last bills twisted in her wallet. Letter
after letter she was clever and more
clever, for months she wrote a newspaper man
who liked her in the picture. The poor
saved spoons of sugar, she traded them
for stamps. He wanted a clever wife. She was poor
so he sent a ticket: now she could come to her wedding
by train. Poor, the baby left with the nuns.

Because she is clever, on the platform to meet him
she thinks Be generous with your eyes. What is poor
is what she sees. Cracks stop the station clock,

girls with candle grease to sell. Clever, poor,
clever and poor, her husband, more nervous
than his picture, his shined shoes tied with twine.

Clever and Poor Poem By V. Penelope Pelizzon

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