Marvin Lurie


I have become expert with boxes.
One with unopened shampoo and hand cream to the shelter.
Another with still good sweaters and coats, folded carefully,
for Goodwill.
The one with a pitcher and glasses
wrapped and packed with crumpled newspaper
to a cousin who might use them.
A nicked and scratched kitchen table
taken apart, crated up and shipped to a brother.
Some necklaces, rings and bracelets
to be parceled out to the family women.
Pictures divided and mailed to grandchildren.
A box of dishes to sit on a shelf,
too heavy with memories to be taken down and used.
Each move yields more boxes,
until there is just a reclining chair,
a small table with a wedding picture and clock radio
in a narrow room with a single bed.
And I begin to fold flat and put aside
more cardboard boxes.

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