Paper Bag Princess
I am but a discoloured receipt from a small shoe store,
my four corners digging in cracks of a pavement worn.
A brown paper bag inches forward four lines across;
its two rope handles bicker over who will hold me first.
The silhouette of a tire cuts me into two fragile pieces.
When red turns green to swallow a shadow that swells,
a pair of heels halts to grasp me in her spotless hands
into a darkness accompanied by red neon strands.
She writes on my back a love poem that I read again,
made tragic by the breathless scratches of a purple pen.
When he takes the stage, she crumples me in a crunch
and throws me in a trashcan with a brown paper bag.
Your rope is thinner and your print I don’t recognize, but
if this was a fairy tale you could be a princess in disguise.
My feedback:
Posted Feb 24, 2021, 2:56 PM UTC · edited