by D Larissa Peters
Digging up old anger—following clues,riddles: bitter feelings, hurt words flung or whispered, tender thoughtssaid all over the face—gouging the heart, finding shiny half-dollars of memories. Count them with gold-rush glee. Remember the thorns-in-the-side,pain-in-the-ass journey. Hold fast to the Midas-fever. Never forget what you’ve found. Do not torch that motherfucker, like a castawaysending flares of an S.O.S.