Freo Markets
This is not a poem about veggies and tote bags.
The groceries I bought at the market today, squished in my little tote bag. Brushing past my hips as I walk
I’m trying to be careful not to bruise the mushrooms again, or burst the cherry tomatoes. This is the only clean bag I have left.
The rest of them are on the floor in my room somewhere; feeding a colony of ants with stale crumbs left over from past adventures and happy memories.
Todays consisted of fighting away a seagull while I tried to enjoy this fancy hot dog. It’s the only real protein I’ve had all week and I didn’t intend on sharing.
When I reached my spot on the wall at the beach, I let me legs dangle over the edge of the sandy wall and got lost in the push and the pull of the ocean and it’s ability to cleanse.
I sat for hours, lost in the way the sea foam is chased along the sand, then swept away again;
Washing away uneven ground; wishing it would wash away mine.
Comments (1)
Beautifully written.