Green Leaf Volatiles

I’m the concrete your bare feet padded down

as I backed out of your driveway.

 

I’m every grenade ever rolled at you

that never exploded,

never penetrated—a dud, each

and every one.

 

I’m the heart you took

from the room and left

outside on the back porch, picked

over by birds and ants.

 

I’m the blade of grass you tore between

two knuckles and wiped on your pants.

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