Brought on Hummingbird Wings

The battery is almost dead, so I stop and remove the bit. Forty seven! Man, those were a lot of holes for a small drill like ours!

Wanna turns on the water. We wash the shells one by one. We don’t speak. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I have this fear that the sound will disperse the faint scent of sea coming from the bucket.

Wanna unrolls the hose, and I spray the concrete under the working table.

full summer moon
we take down
the sign “beyond repair”

Years later, I publish an article about the risks of inhaling white dust.

©Tzetzka Ilieva, 2016


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