Today's poem is by Lizzie Harris
Somewhere in the future
my father is dyingfrantically
searching a white beach
for quarters. All my life I've tried
to buy but everything came free-
falling through air where I
caught stuff by the tongue.
I was spitting anger everywhere!
Miles overhead, planes drop
fun-sized candies to the people below,
who are suffering from illnesses they caught
on the subway. I'm not afraid
for nothing. I can hear the planes
not landing. The dog silent
in the distance. I fill my grocery bags
with other grocery bags. I graze
on what feels like very little time.
Copyright © 2014 Lizzie Harris All rights reserved
from The Carolina Quarterly
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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