Kristina McDonald After you leave for work, I contemplate the shovel Clearly visible through the kitchen window, a shovel leans against the fence. The yard of our city apartment is nearly nine square feet and everything I’ve tried to grow has died so you joked that I was Queen Midas, that I could kill anything with a touch, which didn’t make much sense but I laughed because it was better than not laughing but I stopped touching the garden although I didn’t stop touching you. It’s a brand new shovel and the dirt looks undisturbed and as I let the coffee burn I wonder what it is you’re planning to bury.
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Kristina McDonald
SIXFOLD POETRY SUMMER 2013