A single crumb falls in between the crevices of my breast
Before it meets its final fate on my kitchen floor;
The annoyance of the loss of potential sustenance
Will soon be forgotten during a 2am mania haze
Where I’ll finally sweep the floors,
Dumping that crumb, now covered by dust and purple onion skins,
Into the garbage bin filled two days past when it should’ve been emptied;
All for its contents to be eventually
be burned and buried underneath
the roads that I will travel along to my death.

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Naa Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey (She/Her/Hers) is a Chicago-born writer and an MD-PhD Student at UW-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health. She is interested in the intersection between scientific research, medicine and the humanities. Her works have been published or forthcoming in The Brussels Review, JAKE, The B’K Magazine, Abstract, The Inflectionist Review, Sage Cigarettes Magazine, and more. More at NaaAshitey.com