Untitled by Dorothea Grossman

I don't own an exquisite way to move around in the night
—Doug Benezra

It occurs to me that,

when I die,

they might find the necklace

I dropped behind the bed

and wonder

how long it was there,

and whether I’d missed it.

But will they care

about my favorite color,

my long-range plans,

or my habit of searching myself

for signs of rust?

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Untitled