bottle, broken

it’s just a bottle,
broken by time
(encouraged by
a wandering brick)
streaked with scratches
(like your newly
purpled hair)
and tossed out
on the garbage heap
for rag pickers
to make a rupee off.

it’s just a bottle,

but once upon a time
it held good wine.

and it now holds
green light
and magic
and the sweet sour smell
of memory.

and while i cannot grudge
a rupee earned
i’d rather keep the bottle,

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