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
underneath.
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.
Postmarked:
Return to Sender
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