i carry your heart [& hand] with me [even as we close / i leave / they shutter the shop] 

by Jen Schneider

wood framed doors bear signs written by/of hand in sharpie font. streaks & smudges of black/red/blue ink. greetings / all are welcome / open for business / we are / sale. hammers knock. plywood covers. affronts on grammar. all grammar welcome.  

bargains to/of/for the people. the community. comrades always at war. most wars unseen. series of quips, quirks, and quiet pleadings with no sound. stretched scotch tape [now curled] a mask for the emptiness within. of spaces where shopkeepers [early risers/bakers/stockers] [late night fillers/checkers/supervisors] hang/hung chimes over doors [like mistletoe] now unhinged / dangled goods, goodies, goblins, and giveaways [hard & soft] [of chocolate candy, peppermint twist, & and salt-water taffy nuggets] 

beats punctuated by markers both silent & unfamiliar. tense periods. i carry your heart in my back pocket [the one I no longer have / that fails to cease] [receipts / purchase orders / to dos / dues]  

i carry your pulse in my being [the hum of the soda – pepsi & coke - cooler / the ding of the front register – home to nickels & dimes / the soft squish of the dark olive berber (or was it beige?) carpet]  

i carry your fibers in the cotton of my faded navy khakis & crisp red polo (company issued). layers of laces. layers of rubber soles. swept dust in corners. cotton socks & sockets heavy of tears (& tears) squish / squash / squelch.

i carry your image (the rectangular building’s far right / far back shelf of plastic trucks [later trains] & far left / far back shelf of plastic [later glass] bottles) in the galleries [galleys] of my mind. speeds always increasing. tallies never yielding. lottery tickets always on sale.  

i carry your flavor (vanilla, coffee grinds, griddle grease) / scent (sweat mixed of lavender air freshener & chicken soup in metal kettles) /sounds (light jazz, heavy chatter, ping. ping. ping.) in my belly/nose/canals. soda fountain glasses etched of prints of many nations, vinyl stool cushions molded of bums of many motions, radio dials turned [right / left / full rotations of both sun & moon] by tired hands.

i carry you / as [the memory of] you carry me [beat, pump, pulse, drift] across/over/thru moons of many moments.

turfs/hurts of tired mats/mall rats [of front & back doors] lie unencumbered.

feet squash faded W.E.L.C.O.M.E.[s]  


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"i carry your heart [& hand] with me [even as we close / i leave / they shutter the shop]" was first published in unstamatic.

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. She is a Best of the Net nominee, with stories, poems, and essays published in a wide variety of literary and scholarly journals. She is the author of Invisible Ink (Toho Pub), On Daily Puzzles: (Un)locking Invisibility (forthcoming, Moonstone Press), and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups (forthcoming Atmosphere Press).