What it Takes to Keep Me
Your grandmother loved me from the day we met but not enough. She told you you should keep me, as though a Boy Scout badge, something to put in a shoebox or sew with thin stitches onto your sash. Keep her. I wasn’t repelled by her stories of viscera, of reaching into the red cavity, gripping the muscle, squeezing when it wouldn’t, reminding it of purpose, meaning. The bones […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 