The bag exhales its emptiness.
It has run out of things to give,
only a few husks.
I prop my hand under my chin.
My darling puts her kit on the table
and strings the kernels through.
There were all shades of yellow #5.
America's #1 Finest!
She puts them round her neck,
glistening in tv-light,
that nacreous shell of a necklace.
The white noise plays on.
They start to burst, each one of them,
into a different kind of flower—
daffodils, dandelions, daisies—
it was quite a piece.
My hands are so close now, trembling,
and I am hungry.
The white noise plays on.
Quickly I ****** at them, ****** into her,
And my hand comes out empty,
only a few husks.
The petals scatter slowly around us.
The bright, yellow sun is crashing,
And so, too, does that crumpled bag
Into the trash, above which hung
My heavy heart, my sweet
And her finest around her neck.
I prop my hand under my chin again.
