The mattress was heavy and hard to carry
filled as it was with years of skin shed sleeping
with subtractable lovers
and steeped as it was in tears and other
wetnesses spilled during twilights
of joy or mornings of pain,
after the rain of their bodies
mingled with pillows and sheets,
after disordered sleep.

She tugged it resolutely
toward the curb
and left it there,
her memories next to bags
of rotting bananas and sanitary napkins–
the base detritus of one’s life sloughed
and shredded like once important papers.

Items that mattered but matter no more
tossed off like an unhappy life.

The woman who talked.

September 2014
Exquiste Corpse Zombie Salon Group Write – Julie Ayers, Andrew Hager, Anne McCall, Tricia Theis Rogalski


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