By Anna Papadopoulos
We empty the familiar ceramic bowls
where orphaned items have collected.
Toss the pencil with the broken tip
in the trash, its life
a casualty of our lethargy.
The Easter M&Ms also don’t make it.
We haven’t performed this dance
in a while. Cleansed our palates
with the matching silverware
or invited the silly wine decanter to join us.
I remove the Post-It note from the fridge,
the one you stuck on my laptop those early pandemic days:
The dog pooped on the stairs and I stepped in it.
The same poop I later stepped on.
I slip the note into my pocket
Anna Papadopoulos adores New York City’s gritty beaches and littered streets and shares her home in Staten Island, NY with her husband, three children, a poodle, a Siberian cat and her mother’s neglected Lenox collection.
This poem earmarks the transition of reopening our homes to friends and family as a result of the availability of the vaccine. There’s bittersweet emotion that comes with reopening our homes and re-engaging with the world.