September 23, 2016Between Funerals
A black-suited man
plucks your name
from the felt board
in the foyer.
One by one
the white letters
clink
into a plastic bag,
the kind built for sandwiches.
from #52 - Summer 2016
from #52 - Summer 2016
Felicia Krol
“I write because my brainthoughts are made of words and they need somewhere to live when I’m not thinking them anymore.”