Unpacking My Hope Chest

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The man who tried to gut me
like a fish? He had no idea
what he had done, giving away
those things.
– Ball® 32oz Wide Mouth Quart Jars
– The empty picture frame
– Center pieces for our Holiday Table
“Think of all the real families,
with limited funds and mobility,
who furnish their labor for nothing.”
I am trying.
Those folding chairs for Big Bend
in April? At the curb, too. Tell me
How to Love Your Park, when
all you’ve left is disposables.
– Half bottle of Head & Shoulders®
– A few packs of clothes hangers
– Redeemed coffee shop punchcard
He had no idea, like a fish,
there was such thing as water.
Enough to turn me soft and prune,
purple as lilacs in June.
The woman who tried to tease me,
toward a new meaning of Hope?
She gave herself away, with guts
and a decent rope. “Hang on this.”
I am trying, but you have no idea
what he did; to the strength in my arms
and chest, leaving the unpacking to me,
like all the rest.
“Have you thought to try riding a bicycle?”

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