the world
comes together. Different
than supermarket browsing,
a lean & linger over a patch
of shriveling strawberries, the way
you took 10 minutes agonizing
over the freshest batch of kale
when your daily plate
is bread & potatoes. No,
these are conscious decisions,
mind taut & angular, a weapon
w/many edges. Not a dull cleaving
before the butcher’s counter—
this is serious.
& after the third time
she walks by the poetry aisle
where you laugh aloud about
[insert cool name here] she
approaches, basket brimming
w/Hurston, Baldwin, Larsen,
& a book of computer coding
you would pretend to understand
on any blessed night. “I was the one
from the parking lot, the one
who smiled when you walked in,”
she says, & you
are alert. Alive.
from dying in the scarecrow’s armsFind it in the library
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