Signature
Grace Hulderman
Grace,
picked my teeth out and put
them in matchboxes, Grace-
fully falling down stairs,
off bicycles, into
age nine; sloppy scissor
slice across bangs,
when freckles charted paths
across the nose, cheeks froth-flecked.
Humming, “My grace all sufficient,”
church organ, knees
knocking, pulse swimming.
Can’t sit still at the table,
thinks about dirt and roots
when you’re saying Grace,
mind is a sock turned
inside out. Could never
keep the laundry
folded, Grace.