Alex Gust

The Taste of Mildew

I have folded my heart, neatly
And stowed it in the old creaking chest under the slatted window downstairs
Where the air is musty and hangs laden with mildew
Where the pipes sweat beads that ring off the bricks in Morse code
Cryptic and cold
Here lies, once beating, a trinket, once precious, now lifeless, a time capsule for future selves,
to marvel at, for a moment, before sending off to the Goodwill
In a cardboard box of shirts with stretched out collars

Alex Gust is a poet from Tacoma, Washington. He has been published in Flora Fiction, Alternate Route, and Beyond Words.