It did not creepslowly,like a spiderafter her struggling prey.More like a fifteen pound bowling ball,Thundering towardslazy fat pinsunable to move. The disease flowedthrough shiny silver cansDripping with cold sweat It pouredout of beautifully crafted glass bottles Liquids of gold,Burning amber,And fizzy bubbling blush Liquid courage,it shredded our family tree,into paper confetti.Scrapbooks full of memories,no oneContinue reading “Consumption”
A Hermitess 