Poem by Chris Tusa
Divine and white,
you’re an aspirin fit for the gods,
the powdery ghost of Gandhi
conjured into a bottle,
glorious as the bones of Buddha
ground into white dust.
How truly miraculous
the way you dissolve on my tongue,
like a peppermint, like a host—
the way you bury my grief
like a diamond ring, like a seed.
Comments about Prozac by Chris Tusa
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