“It occurs to me that when I die…” by Dorothea Grossman

“It occurs to me that,
when I die,
they might find the necklace
I dropped behind the bed
and wonder
how long it was there,
and whether I’d missed it.
But will they care
about my favorite color,
my long-range plans,
or my habit of searching myself
for signs of rust?”

Dorothea Grossman, “Untitled” via Poetry

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