Shelf Life

Contributed by Alys Culhane

You tumbled off a roof.

Your ankle is an anchor with no mooring.

I was tossed off a horse.

My shoulder is an alarm clock with an unceasing ring.

We meet by the Gaylord,

a chest-high box

filled with books to be shredded,

the detritus of our trade.

You hold a copy of The Farming of the Bones

And I hold a copy of Raise High the Roof Beam Carpenters.

To toss or not to toss?

This is a question that weighs you down

and makes my ears ring.

With age comes pain. And with pain comes wisdom.

we swap copies

You take the Salinger

I take the Danticat,

and we resume salvaging.