Clutter
Published in The Sailfish Review, September 2020
By Grace Cram
soiled snow clinging to the curbside
we were back to back on the bus, all bundled up
ice & lights flashing by
a folded piece of paper, pressed to my thigh.
bass pounding
insults & laughter abounding
thinking the night would always last
a discarded ticket stub on my dash.
fingers tracing the flowery ink
tales told & heart bared --
always wishing me the best,
a crumpled envelope upon the desk.
smell of smoke & fire wafting
in the crowd, i know you’re watching
the most fascinating face you’ve ever seen
10 numbers strung together on my screen.
salt lingering on cracked lips & limbs,
it’s just us & the waves & the sun,
rising
and a sunflower in a vase, dying?