by Lori Lasseter Hamilton

an orange
an open mouth
cerulean blue Faberge egg
scoop of ice cream
a spoon
a teardrop
baby’s pink rattle
a pillar candle
red balloon childhood promised
a pearl
a bath bomb
Ferris wheel
a glass paperweight
a stove’s eye
magnifying glass
eyeball with red squiggly lines
round wedding cake with 3 tiers
pressed powder compact with puff and mirror
a lollipop
alarm clock
the red tip of a match
a doll’s head
a red Dixie cup to get her drunk
a porthole window
rusted out barrel where the pearlescent pink button on a wife’s sweater pops off in the flame
a cotton ball
a gold wedding band
chicken pot pie
a Christmas wreath
the starlight mint that broke my teeth
bowl of cherries
the sewing tomato Mom’s needles were stuck in
a pink velvet pillow
a soccer ball
lavender-hued birth control pill dispenser
the dial on a rotary phone
Queen Elizabeth’s crown
King Jesus’ crown of thorns
the zero in 1980
the letter O
a communion chalice
Pilate’s handwashing bowl
a paper cup holding Welch’s grape juice
the slot for a cup on the back of a Baptist pew
the hazardous waste bin in UAB’s operating room
a Gobstopper
a Jawbreaker
a kaleidoscope
a snowball
the white parachute we’d hold above our heads in third grade gym
as the music played and half the kids tried to cross before the music stopped and the parachute fell
kindergarteners singing ring around the rosy holding hands in a circle
my rapist’s palms around my neck
the summer sun in Vacation Bible School as I stepped in an anthill wearing sandals
a moon pie
can of RC Cola
a portable compact disc player spinning The Smiths
my uterus pregnant with a 13-pound fibroid the size of a baby’s head
a hot air balloon I flew up in after a distant relative’s funeral
before stopping in an ice cream shop with cousins on my mother’s side
as Air Supply sang “I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you” over the speakers
an egg
a pocket watch
an earring
a bracelet
a blueberry
a peach
a Coca-Cola can
a pink nipple
a clown’s red nose
Sweet Tarts
an offering plate holding my chump change
a charcoal grill where Dad grilled hamburgers and hot dogs on the Fourth of July
the ice cream maker Papa would pour Morton’s salt into to make the banana ice cream
my dog Domino would eat
the tennis ball Mom cut a round hold in to sneak toothpaste so Domino’s breath wouldn’t stink
and his teeth wouldn’t rot
the round hole in his heart the worms carved out
the face of the grandfather clock in Momommy and Papa’s living room
as it chimed doom doom doom

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Lori Lasseter Hamilton is a 50-year-old breast cancer and rape survivor. She works as a medical records clerk in a local hospital. Lori has competed in Montevallo and Birmingham poetry slams, and was a member of Montevallo's poetry slam team that competed in Southern Fried Regionals in 2003, 2005, and 2013. She is a member of Sister City Connection, a collective of women poets, spoken word artists, and storytellers in Birmingham, Alabama. Some of Lori's poems have been published in Steel Toe Review, Birmingham Arts Journal, and Glass: A Journal of Poetry. One of her finest poetry slam moments is when she got to pet a bulldog named Bam-Bam between slam rounds at Eclipse Coffee in Montevallo.