Shannon Austin

Pink


Sounds itself out,
counts nickels
dropping
in a tin can,
reads itself in
bubble gum &
peonies &
crepe paper
rattles
hung like
dying trees

\

is a city,
muscle & marrow &
your body’s many
mouths,
taste buds
opening &
winding streets,
sun-worn brick
thinking back
to its origins

\

is your blood
pressed
against the wall
of your cheek,
moments before
its release

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shannon Austin is a writer and editor from Baltimore, MD, who is currently completing her MFA in poetry at UNLV.  Her poems and translations have appeared in InterimColorado ReviewProfaneCalamus Journal, and elsewhere. 

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