Oriental Ashtray

by Rachel Trignano

Unliving eight years is
appealing and impossible
when sifting down to the
sparest remainders, all
stuff unstuffed, each
nook uncrannied, the
dust prolific and of its
own decibel, settling like
a Paleolithic talc among
zodiacs of jettisoned debris,
edited endlessly and left
to the sunny dinge of an
off-kilter attic, where the
et cetera of said scene goes
unknown.  It’s funny, though,
what slows the last notes of
a coda composed in exit:
a whole house dismantled, and
I spent two days wondering
if I should take the
Oriental ashtray.

JesseOriental Ashtray

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