“Little Drifter”

by Holly Brazzle


I’m from brown boxes,
packing tape, and wrapping paper;
like cloves and evergreen—
hard and heavy, filled
and then emptied—smooth
with cardboard ribs

I’m from stiff uniforms,
like mustard gas and marigolds,
with shades of disfigured
silhouettes: people.

—from boots black,
laced tight to the calf:
feet covered in glass.

I’m from a piece of paper
—tattooed in another’s ink.

I’m from hide-and-go-seek
in dragon’s teeth.
—from shining seas
over and out—and those in between.
—from cookie convoys
in the DMZ.

I’m from greetings
and see-you-laters.

—from letters in the mail,
wrinkled dots on the paper.

Return to Sender