Kits

Kits
Sharon Short

Using only items found on the coffee table
construct a kit for grief.

First let the phone slip to the floor—
you can pick it up and mop the spilled coffee later.

The bearer has hung up anyway.
Then contemplate the options before you:

Travel magazines of frothy seas
and wavering palms.

Bills vacillating between ‘pay before shut off’
and delay.

The remote that with just one click will bring humanity suffering
and wailing into the living room.

The bowl that held the chocolate ice cream, triple fudge
and sprinkles.

Best option: pick up the bowl and lick it.
No one is here to see you

To judge you for savoring one last sweet smooth taste
Before the salty season.

Then again, perhaps it’s best to
stand up and walk away. To
throw open the door, let in light and air. To
shed your grief out into the world. To
melt with the rest of humanity.

These kits can wait.

These kits have a way of creating themselves.

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