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I know not the substance you once held:
food or drink, poison, balm.
For the farmer or his wife,
whose work you did I cannot tell.
The potter’s hands that gave you birth
have long ago returned to earth;
and you upon this antiques’ shelf
have wiled years and gathered dust.

I make you mine to hold the past.
I’ll give to you some humble task:
hold copper coins or paper clips
and feel you have purpose yet –
to fill your womb with any what
that I, your newest owner, wants.


A New Englander by birth and both a psychologist and minister by training, Ken Weene has worked as an educator and psychotherapist. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications – most recently being featured in Sol, and an anthology of his writings, Songs for my Father, was published by Inkwell Productions.

Now in semi-retirement, Ken and his wife live in Arizona . There Ken has been able to indulge his passion for writing. He has served as treasurer of The Arizona State Poetry Society and has studied with Ron Rash at The Wildacres Writing Workshop.

© 2009, Ken Weene

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