The Small Things
by Maeve A. Kenney
Eggs,
milk,
bread—seedy bread—my once-best-friend’s favorite.
The cereal my mother likes,
hand sanitizer that smells like Iowa in January.
It reminds me of rags of dirty snow
wrung out between the crocuses.
Bandaids.
Bobby pins and batteries... I’ll just go to Costco,
and feel small between the shelves.
Since I can’t buy August or Italy, I’ll get
olives that taste like water, and
lemon-flavored gelato.
I’ll look for honey to leave sticky
on the counter-top, aniseed
and cinnamon for my morning tea.
Maple syrup for my dad to drizzle
from high above my head.
“I should stock up before the long weekend”
someone I love once said.
Did I write milk already?
Eggs.
I might get sourdough instead.