— Casey FitzSimons
Everything button-sized will go
in a marmalade jar, one of those oval
grenade-shaped jars with an ill-fitting lid, some
embossed design knurling its equator. Paper clips
and drapery weights, nuts and bolts, diamond rings.
I’ll have to eat more marmalade.
Larger things like
barrettes and pink erasers, pronged adapters,
triple-A batteries, refrigerator magnets, and staple
removers will go in one-pound coffee cans. I have
a stash of those with plastic lids splitting,
In shoeboxes—crayons and pencils,
screwdrivers, eating utensils, scissors, tooth brushes,
calipers, pipe cleaners, emery boards.
Amazon has sent cardboard cartons I’ll use
for pill bottles, salt shakers, cosmetics, demitasse cups,
tennis balls, eyeglasses, cell phones.
some left overs—picture frames, inline skates,
and bud vases, metronomes, incense burners,
maracas, and hand-held hair dryers. They can go
into laundry baskets and washtubs.
would fit in a swimming pool if I had one.
In a sort
of prefab garage sale, my bed will be the last to go.
I’ll lie there haggling with passers-by: A marmalade jar
for a nickel, a shoebox for a dime. I’ll get rich.