Receipt Volume Three
June Tang
In the frozen food aisle of Woolworths, you are crying.
Whiskey breath spirit, palms calloused from touching girls
who couldn’t love you. An apparition for a father and a sister
in the ground. In the checkout queue I hand you the money
and my necklace. A closing curtain on our small history, our
bloodied affair. Wondering if the cashier girl can detect the flood
in your eyes. One dollar short, she says, so you dig your pockets
for more coins. For more time. For a way to undo this knot
without undoing yourself. Your tongue is swollen with
unanswered questions and I take the 5-cents change like a souvenir
from a place I wish I hadn’t been. Outside, the sky a darkening bruise;
your face a broken power line. You tuck into my hand the receipt:
a memory of our bond. A lingering reminder for what we both
lost.
~