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beaded purse
crack on the sidewalk, slow down, missing rhinestones on the cover.
cheap purse, designer heels, don’t let them notice the empty holes
left by encrusted jewels. black velvet hugs a
wrinkled grocery list -raspberries and milk- with scribbles on the
margin, first-line light then grows firmer with sureness, hasty notes
don’t want to be erased.
she writes prayers on paper, yellowed and thin. a piano plays on the
street, folded hymns sit next to an empty wallet. she’s never believed
in god before, but sometimes religion is inevitable, and
where is her maroon lipstick? The chain is missing a link, cracked
metallic paint, she unpacks her suitcases
alone and buys charms from stalls for herself or maybe to
show that she can. she hides from unread texts under street lamps,
fallen rhinestones line the curb.
I think she longs for Paris.
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