Samantha Lucero writes of old photo albums and other things.
They leash their arms around an oval-shape
becoming empty; the shape deflates, the air comes out like water.
It starts to breathe it’s own small breath in the shape of a person,
someday a man, a woman, sometimes swollen, sometimes
stiff, stark, or bleeding.
Seeing those photos one day,
your nose has memorized leather and tobacco flower.
for her, it’s dr.pepper, Disney on ice
the cotty musk she never knew she had just inside the pi of bone.