Sunday, November 29, 2020

her empty plates

i have a stack 
of her dishes.
trays, a pan.
a cup, a saucer.
a plate adorned 
with flowers.
all had arrived with 
something
on them, wrapped
and sealed,
some hot, some cold.
some rich desserts,
others
a dinner, just needing
the oven
to get warm.
but now they're empty,
i've taken care
of that.
they sit by the door
in a paper bag, waiting
to go home.

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