Heirloom by by Ammi Lane-Volz

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every time I lose my voice/I swallow little glowing lights

in an alley squatting now
grimy
I inhale
a man stands in my periphery, on the brink
of speaking

oneone I dream
oneone of talking often
oneone at a thrift store earlier,
oneone a giggle shared with someone beautiful
oneone I said nothing,
oneone headphones low and busy

when I move, he’s gone
an exhale.
I stamp it out.

clinging to my clothes
a secret cigarette
scent carried away by wind, but smoke
lingers like a thumbprint still
on my conscience

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artist’s bio

Ammi Lane-Volz is a writer and editor. They really like Björk.