Mini Issue Work

To Worry

By Jessie Metcalf
Mice churn cream clotted
In splintering bucket
Better with jam than stomachs

Miners make sound out of stone
Sweat even bleed for lifting
Hoist the poisoned coal
Dead heavy
Up through a throat

It tastes like palpitation
Like closing
Like the corner of an eye

Then the tide reaches
Gives birth to another beach
Which will moments later die

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