Leonita

She gave it to me

she cupped her white wrists

around a sullen brown bottle

like a secret, smiled,

whispered to me:

Here We Are,

she said. My

ancestors–

in a bottle.

Kittie and Bill and

Steeve all there too,

looking up from their

smooth glass walls and

wondering casually.

That’s how addiction starts.

I thanked her for it–

the bottle. I took it

from her hands and she

closed her eyes, smiled.

Thank You, she said.

And Leonita came home

with grapenuts in her pocket,

jingling.

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