when wet my first possession squeaks,
slips and spreads more wetness where it goes
inside my first possession is a bell
it chimes when bounces, squeezed or thrown
I throw it often,
from my chair, and from my mat,
and at the dog, who thinks it’s his.
my first possession reflects a world
that looks down upon me,
always shifting and adjusting—
I will remember my first possession,
it is me, it is mine, it is everything around me.
Thanks for checking out my poem.
Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!