Butterfly Ghosts

This is it. It’s the beginning. This is how it starts. And yet here you are in the middle of it, just stopped, holding your things: all the things you owned before, when you were a person who did things and bought things, and now all the additional things you own - your mom’s things - plus of course all the things your husband amassed at some point before you. You pick the things up, and as you feel them, you count that you have two citrus juicers, three sets of tongs, four colanders, five pepper grinders, six paring knives, seven spatulas, eight egg holders, and now you have wild turkeys outside too. The partridge for the rhyme.

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