clenched fists
i am clenched fists, tumbling in the riptide. current dragging ankles on the silt bottom of underwater shores, the disintegration of my forefather’s merchant ships slipping beneath my heels.
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i am clenched fists, tumbling in the riptide. current dragging ankles on the silt bottom of underwater shores, the disintegration of my forefather’s merchant ships slipping beneath my heels.
old Mexican men, with thick ruddy skin and white mustaches, stand in their Carharts and green cordoroys at the bus stop. cracked-skinned hands grip blue plastic lunch coolers, which later will double for chairs on their lunch breaks at the worksite. a bar with faux Mexican, “historic,” wooden arched entrance charms customers to duck inside [...]
