@buttonpoetry.bsky.social

@buttonpoetry.bsky.social

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Purple Hearts The night my 87-year-old great grandmother died she was coming home from a date, but wet pavement and impractical shoes, a broken hip, a body in shock, a passing. The first time I ever heard the word slut it kettle-steam-slipped from between the plastic pearl veneers of my aunt Delores as a procession of antique soldiers in their dressiest dress blues from the VFW, where my mamaw gave out warm plates and warmer hands to troops of empty-housed men, filed one after another dropping the contents of their left breast pockets into the box where my grandmother lay beautiful in too much rouge, delicate like some ancient corsage and I decided that someday I want to be a slut, just like Grandma, and be sent up to glory on a parade of grateful, unlonelied hearts.
This is a new style of short video, feature the author reading over the text of the book. Let us know if you love it, have non-love feelings about it and if you'd like to see this kind of work from any of our authors!