Kate DeLay | Poetry

The price of living is remembering. For the price

of dying, fattened cows load into truck beds,

their bodies forgotten of my childhood

names. Years thinned until

I could no longer see

where my body met its desire. I sold to America

my heart for pennies. Don’t yet leave me, I said

to my heart. It shined like a penny

worth more copper than a penny.