She carries a bucket, a home for a tune,
places flowers on her tongue,
peppered music note-grey.
This is her one passage: large nose to throat,
a paradigm of shame for an unimpressive dame.
She attempts to prosper, probing a posey garden,
but she is still small, a flimsy ribbon holding up
a baby bouquet,
scraping sound from her throat--
a knife working over tuna pate
from tin can to a world equally as silver, no!
Like mold on a fruit, fuzzy microbes
wade in the spit pools.
of a girl
who has nothing to
sing, do, or
Anastasia Jill (she/they) is a queer writer living in the Southeast United States. She has been nominated for Best American Short Stories, Best of the Net, and several other honors. Her work has been featured with Poets.org, Pithead Chapel, Contemporary Verse 2, OxMag, Broken Pencil, and more.