PICKING THE LOCK

May 21, 2017

I try a bleached bird-bone,
a rutted nail,
my grandmother’s spoon ring uncurled in fire,
a sharp pine-needle waxed in resin,
the slim spine of his favourite book,
until he cries.

I ask the wimpled ghosts
if the key is a word
to place it on my tongue,
please, place it here.

Megan Merchant

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