qarrtsiluni

Blast-white, full-strike, key-date heirloom
folded away in a black velvet cloth, heavy
lost lens from the first camera box, past
Murphy Oil, mothball, lowest dresser drawer,
cartwheel Carson City cameo, gem-brilliant
boondoggle, this rainbow-toned, mirror-like proof
weighting my palm. How many arrows pierce
your eagle’s reverse talon? For silver or for naught,
for standing trespass in a neighbor boy’s bedroom,
I’d skinny you away in my childhood shoe
and bet my bottom dollar I’d not get caught.

by Brent Goodman

Download the MP3

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