Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'The Night Ahead' by Tom French | Page 25

At the River a postscript

I feel them again when I reach for change to pay to cross the river –

the crocus bulbs, wrapped in muslin, they passed out in the atrium, and place one in the palm of the woman who reaches from the booth.

Then a pause happens; the barrier lifts, and I pass on.

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