Katherine Isabella Olsen

Published in Issue 5 of 7th-Circle Pyrite

Now that I have tucked you
—cracked and broken, body soft—
into the damp dark earth
in May, the rain loosening the soil
and bringing up the worms,
the other snails come stand vigil.
They protect that bit of shell
left on the walkway,
that blur of slime
left on my shoe.
These little marks of life that I
unknowingly crushed in my bigness—
they come stand vigil over
the pieces of you too small for me to lay to rest.