THE FIST

The starfish
came home curled
      in a tightly
   closed bucket of sand,
stashed in the garage
   with the beach chairs.

                              We forgot.
When we opened the lid
expecting stench
there wasn't even smell --
just rough beige
                        granules

sifting through our sticky fingers.

a n n e   s e l d e n
m e c h a n i c s b u r g ,   p e n n s y l v a n i a

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