Wanderer
Grace Shieh I carried a suitcase of pineapples to the Arctic Little pockets of sun, heat, and laughter With all my fingers I dug one open
The pines rebelled, cutting my ring finger Blood dripped down
Frozen before it reached the ground Rubies I called them
I picked up the pineapple My dowry to the arctic
And chugged all its juice Sweetness exploding
Some golden tears falling In the innermost ring I found my men
Dancing like little drunk bastards With their happiest faces In groomsmen’s clothes Fingers pointing
At my amusing sorrowful face In this place where a wanderer’s courage fades Freedom isolation a breath away They left a piece of themselves
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