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?
Friday, March 14, 2008
Bottle
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