Do you have any one buck things?”

She asked

Racking dirty nails 

Over baskets of handmade bracelets

And beads

God is the thread and we are the beads

Barefoot and hungry for summer souvenirs of proof that she’d been there

Feeling and alive

One buck things 

One bucks things 

In recovery to uncover

Hunt and retrieve

That which has been hidden

Under shame, blame, regret and fear 

Of being unloved


The emptiness of inauthenticity 

Where can I find me?

Not in Black Fridays or Monday Mournings


Empty nests we leave behind

Cutting cords of hemp and hindering

Threading time and tender

Untying knots

Bills, bloodlines and blind folds

The Eye of Providence blinks

To see what money cannot buy

8 thoughts on “Third World Trading

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