Things I lost along the way
by Amy Freeman
A packet of photographs–slick in the way of diner menus and playing cards–of Spanish moss and streetcars and the food I ate as I forged my way towards New Orleans.
The pair of cowboy boots that took me on and off of 17 Greyhound buses.
A packet of dear letters, stuffed down the maw of a trash chute in anger. A baby doll. A cassette tape of the sound of lightning and thunder. A scarf of Caribbean blue, and a pink shawl suited for gypsies. Weight. Years.
Sapphire earrings stolen by ghosts. A pen, a pack of cigarettes, a skeleton key…The moon.