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Beauty

by Eric Nelson

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Faithless, she placed her faith in human works--
the hand-made, handed-down, forgotten, lost
and found in yard sales, flea markets, junk shops.
With missionary zeal, apostle's urge
she saved from ashes and dust a world:
postcards from nowhere to no one you'd know,
on all of them a different hand, same note--
"having," "wish," "soon," "love." Years of calendars
she bought not for their prints, but for prints
of another kind--the starred and circled dates,
memorable days in the days of the unremembered--
births and recitals, funerals and dentists.
Turning the months and years of ghosts like gates,
she'd nod, pause, pass on without judgment.

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