POETRY
      Robyn Mathison — 'Coda to the Sad Song'

In nineteen seventy
I pawned my wedding
and engagement rings
to buy my daughter shoes.
I never did
get them out of hock again.

But time’s a great redeemer.
Little feet grow, fingers thicken,
girls grow into women,
old sadness disappears.
So let the lamenting fiddle
break into jigs and reels.