There's so much stuff in the closets; in the pantry; in storage. We don't know why but no one can throw anything away. Or we do: because immigrants don't like to waste anything. Think of all the thrift and weird love that went into each. The buckle for instance. It can be saved even if the leather has split and cracked. The meals cooked so you can eat practically every part of the animal. And who doesn't love the glossy, gold-printed sheets of gift wrap you could trim around the edges where plastic tape won't come off clean? Feed the rice water to the baby. Plant teeth of garlic, eyes that bulge out of the sides of purple spuds and straw-colored ginger root: one day soon you'll lift an army of them out of the soil.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.