To you—
I am
a grocery item
that didn't make
past the cashier
because
you fell short
of money
so you took me
off the cart
and at the nearest shelf
your hands
can land on
you discarded me
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoésieI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
