Musepaper Poem Prize

Leaving Paris

Our last night on the Boulevard Montmartre, you discovered,
among dusty rows of cracked pitchers and wrinkled antique

lace, the perfect sapphire ring, insisting that I have it as a reminder
of the way you thought of me. Exhausted from our walking…


The day after I visit my daughter in prison I think of how she is not allowed to handle money not even go near the vending machines…

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