Section III
2022
Something Has Been Lost moira linehan
Hunting for my gold dot earrings, hunting that hospital bill, whispering, Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony. Where, oh where did I leave my reading glasses? Where, my journal? How could it not be right here on my desk? Please, Saint Anthony. My sewing scissors, why not in my sewing basket where they belong? Please come around. Don’t let me lose faith in you. Years I honored your statue carried along Hanover Street and on, through the North End, streamers hanging off it with five dollar, ten dollar bills pinned to them by your devoted faithful, your thankful faithful. Now my keys, not on the edge of the counter where they should be. Hunting again, Saint Anthony, my missing, misplaced, covered over, overlooked, somewhere right here in front of me, Saint Anthony . . . it must be found, what I hold dear, hunting again my unfindable, my lost along this parade route, coming into view my beloved, ever haunting my hunting.
The Lowell Review
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