Timidity

Beneath the floorboards, there were wooden

beads. In the thatch, a book of poetry.

Inside the quilt, another quilt, still legible.

Behind the icon, a different icon.

A shell, an alphabet, a pharmacy

of plants within the children’s repertoire

of songs. In the rhymes, genealogies.

Sewn into a massive raincoat:

Seeds, a photograph, a silk-embroidered

robe in which a designated person

prays. No, it’s not—precisely—cinematic,

hiding. But the no conceals its dignity.