t h e . t h i n g

grandmother knew the townspeople by their floors
bread crumb remnants littered the trunk of
grandfathers 1920 tin lizzie
she swept their houses with cobwebs of hollow
supplication
always returning with homemade jars of
marmalade
leaving the crumbs as a reminder to grandfather
that still they needed bread

i know the townspeople by their purchases
remnants of paper and drying ink litter the trunk of
my 2000 geo metro
i swallow currency in spoonfuls of homeless flower
petals
always returning home hiding used books filled with
notes
leaving thoughts as a reminder to the arrant buyer
that still they needed wealth

grandmother hid food in her closets, creating a smell
none could pinpoint
she sang songs of praise before sleeping on vitriol
scented pillows
you would not agnize her song from her silence
the bread she offered at her table
was her

i hide love in my hands, creating a touch
none can pinpoint
i sing songs of hope before sleeping on lament
scented sheets
you would not know my dance song from my hymn
the feathers and ink offered at my table
are me

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