0 Discordant

A puzzle piece that fits
but not quite, a book that is
too tall for the shelf.
You know when things aren’t right.
When a shoe is a little too
spacious and your foot slides about
the unwanted

void, an old sweatshirt whose
sleeves only grasp your wrists and
leave a patch exposed, alone,
vulnerable. The new coat of paint is
not an exact replica, someone sprinkled
white sugar instead of brown
in the oatmeal, a pair of

knock-off converse. That
pain in your arm is more
intense than a common bruise.
The office plants never die. When the comb
catches on hair and tugs, when Mother’s lasagna
tastes strange and

unfamiliar. A letter promising money confesses a
scam, a gold ring’s veneer fades to
unveil copper, a glass of cold water
exposes itself as carbonated.
A pen scratches instead of bleeding black and leaves


nothingness in place of words.

--Trianne H., 19