Danielle Pafunda

UPON A SNAIL’S BACK WITH A LANCE

I am disappointed, says the virgin.
You have put your hot hand
inside my chest and twisted.

You plucked and I rose
a sliver on the boozy moors.

All my life, I waited. And waiting
brought me to death,
which is fine. The afterlife
is really something,

but I brought my treasure
through its gates and I
hold my treasure still.

For what were all those many
long hours in gray pastures
with wet boots and stale breath?

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