Sarah

prosthetics, pervasive, perversion,

which version of my life

did you read?

knead the dough with amputated fingers,

need to know, why her scent lingers.

laugh it off, the hacking cough, cancer in the terminal.

‘I’m sorry, sir, your flight has been canceled,’

but your past is close behind.

chewing on the pumpkin’s rind in late November

sunsets, street corners bathed in the flames

where a street car named Desire crashed.

what winds blow you here, stranger?