Glass

she squeezed
the hot glass bauble
with her burnt, calloused fingers —

tired breathing, gently
she plucked a silver
strand from her father’s head

Somewhere:

a child steals
an apple from
the neighbor’s
orchard.

[Salvosa 2012, Third Draft]

Note: I found its draft sitting on my office desk, and I just can’t remember the exact reason why I wrote it. I just felt that somehow it had to be revisited.

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