Fall 2019 / Poetry 2019 / Volume 50

Sweet Tea By: Rosella Birgy

Thought it was fun
to change hands like petty cash:
a volatile few girls
flighty as birds
dwelling in the margins of other people’s
stories like annotations to scripture,
sipping sweet tea from glasses that perspired, even in March—
our fingertips traced pictures
of all the ways we’d parch
our desires
in this small town, the downtrodden
humming like live wires
at some great intersection.

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