Never Eat My Plums

The hanger swings silently, empty of your oversized corduroy jacket, from the inside of our bedroom door. You wear it cause you’re cold.   A sign and its shadow out the front window, A stretch of unparked curb, Six bare shoulders, two watches refracting light, You, within the shelter, hands inside your sleeves. A bus stops.  All my clothes fit neatly in three brown suit cases.   Continue reading Never Eat My Plums