Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.53* Trash (1-3)

1

Brown leaf leather,
worn and crinkled,
torn tips,
its five points equal a maple
that survived the winter,
would not have survived the mold of Spring.
It sits in my palm.
It does not quiver. [a]

2

A shepherd's purse
blooms in a crack
sets seed in heart shaped capsules
too small for the Tin Man. [b]

3

Parliament Lights
with recessed filters
a blue-on-white crushed box.
Foil glints silver,
an empty lining,
no cloud of smoke. [c]

© Kåre Enga [166.53]