Facts About Neuroplasticity

It’s almost the end of summer so the large houses

are making room for pumpkins and Christmas

and they put their least favorite things on the lawn

for us, over the tracks, to drive by and look at.

 

There are always cook books – many from 1950, I hope

to see one from before the war (Civil of course)

but I’m never that lucky. Instead I shoot for utility, after 1970,

when the Jello molds became used less frequently.

 

Our home has a fork shortage. They start out in good

company and then they start to die. They are buried in mass

unnamed graves somewhere. We cannot find them. This senseless

torture has to stop! Save the forks! Or find new ones here.

 

I want a pair of earrings that make me feel like

Cleopatra. I want to pay 50 cents or less. I want to

feel like Isis though, so I will spend up to 75, but no more.

I must be frugal with my extravagance; it’s getting cold out.

 

I will wrap myself in someone else’s blankets, stitched

with love or hate by some human hand. I want to own

the quilt my neighbor’s Nana made her two Christmases

ago. She wants to get rid of all the sameness she has

 

boiling over and filling her closets. I want to own

all of the memories that are not mine, that I do not deserve

to own. I want to wrap up in their relationship and pretend

the quilt was made for me. Wrap, and pretend my summer just started.