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by June Sylvester Saraceno There are so many outstretched hands and I can only pretend not to see for so long before I end up running into walls, or worse. The siren wails like a babe with no bottle so that I'm wishing myself invisible or earless. Why didn't I bring the smell of jasmine or a throat lozenge to soothe the air? Forgive this empty-handed gesture, I didn't pack well. Even before I lost the handle, then later the baggage itself, I had no tea, no thyme, no confitures, no moon, nor hare, nor hide not even a shell to place inside your proffered palm. Copyright 2017. All rights reserved.
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