The Lady Hands Me a Bag…
The lady hands me a bag.
“I don’t need them anymore” she says.
Brand new baby clothes never worn.
I could cut the sorrow out of the moment.
Hang it unresolved upon the mantle, with all the other things that are lost to us.
I hug her instead. Try to hold the pieces together.
The bag slips from my fingers,
I have never held anything so heavy.