Metaphysics at the Grocery Store

I wish I knew how it felt, being here
Among pieces of pie, apple, cherry—
Cold grocery aisles of wine and beer,
Bright lights blinding; making me be wary.
There are demons in aisle four, a mess
Between Heaven and Hell, purgatory
In a drunken sense. Pieces of me, yes,
Pounds of my body are sold as glory.
Have you seen the Devil in frozen food?
The tiles shift beneath our feet, a sea
Of ground flesh and bones, some mine, scents of blood;
Pizza, ice cream, eggs, an endless bounty.
 We all might die when hour golden feels
 Alive; I warn you, don’t trust broken seals.

Sara Stevenson is a lover of ghosts, dogs and all things hidden. She is a second year student in the Writing for Children and Young Adults program at The New School and she hopes to write something great, someday.