Friday, March 14, 2008


by Sonja Nitschke

It's a bottle. Nothing inside, nothing liquid, nothing that's not water.

But there is something inside. Bit of driftwood with something red on it.

"Help me" it says. No latitude, no longitude.

I look at the cut on my finger.

The writing does look like mine -- dripping, desperate.

Why did it come back to me?

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