by Mackenzie Bush
there is a mason jar
sealed with black wax
tight as a secret
floating in lake michigan.
it is drunk off lime-a-ritas,
filled with ed sheeran songs
and the pain from one so vulnerable
hands recoil from its lid.
two girls at the age of searching
check out bright red books
without their mothers noticing.
they are desperate for anything
to make the room smell
like bubblegum again.
all three flower shops
only had roses with the thorns
removed. needles through the stem
for every sliver of skin
he had no right to touch.
the jar is thrown from the pier,
caught lovingly by the december fog.
and she thinks of him no more,
at least for tonight, under this moon.