is telling me
to go to the door,
that a package is waiting.
It sits atop the mat clothed in
boring brown. I take it inside
and she asks if I know
what it is. I tell her, I do not.
I set it on the kitchen table
and begin its autopsy.
Cutting along the packing tape
I soon pry its chest apart.
My hands reach inside-
who would have remembered?
who could have known?
Even time had forgot.
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