Flour
Someone once told me
“If you were a seasoning…
you’d be flour.”
They spun their stranger like head around quickly,
and unprompted—
not knowing more than the fact that the first
letter of my last name sat directly
next to theirs in the alphabet.
The blade of a thought spewed from their gums
as they created an everlasting lash in my mind
and then continued
unfazed throughout their day.
5 thoughts on "Flour"
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It’s an excellent poem. I like your diction, gives your poem a certain fragility and underlying sensitivity.
What an arbitrary interaction. Thanks for sharing!
Really like this!
I like your poem, proving that poets choose or words keep choosing them. I also like your alma for the great David Justice who played baseball there.
I really like this!