The spreads came home today
not the ones I first brought in
These are generations removed
from their founding slathers...
Yet somehow the same
filling in differently
When condiment gaps appeared
So different
and yet
Somehow the same.
I'm thankful for each one.
The spreads came home today
and perhaps so did I
Spread thin across the too-dense grain
of baked in responsibility.
Did I really allow myself
across so much...
Even when my own jar ran low?
The spreads came home today
buried beneath
a permafrost
of half-discarded papers:
resources that will quickly thaw
if just given sunlight...
Or perhaps not
I keep choosing life so close to the poles.
The spreads cam home today.
My drawer destined to another.
Will she squirrel within her own lunchtime company?
Or perhaps fill the space differently altogether?
I should pop by....
Or perhaps not
I am now that generation removed
from a lunchroom
Somehow the same
and yet
So different.
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