Tonnage
October 21, 2019Poem by Samantha Grenrock
We don’t know who buries us.
We don’t know who buries us.
An artist of innuendo she imagines praise in her flight.
Have always in mind that the world is like you dream it.
The snake had pulled himself mostly under the pallet and was peeking out, flicking the air with his tongue.
Well, if you have lost your mind, blame Union Carbide. Blame the Atomic Bomb.
My aunt’s attitudes reminded me of the cultural practice of senicide, abandoning the aging to die.
I could move in any direction or be motionless, disconnected from everything—my life back in Korea, my plans to move home.