What to do with what we have ordered.
“I said, Fix me.”
Amazon Package
.
I wanted a thing in the shape of a Yom Kippur fast, smelling
of hands clasped in anguish. I bought it online.
The package slid up and down in various directions
.
on black belts in one of Amazon’s famous fulfillment centers
outside a major city. Philadelphia. Baltimore. Columbus, Ohio.
A computer scanned and tracked its progress.
.
It was shipped to me by average humans with choppy beards,
braids in their hair, or buns. As their system weighed
the ephemeral to ensure my order was correct, I wondered
.
Did I want this? Too late. Bed frames. Beauty products. Books.
One box at a time loaded into a truck, a UPS vehicle,
town to town, driven by a man in brown shorts, his hands
.
cupping a blue-and-white cushioned package. He crammed it
into my mailbox like a dead bird. I cut the seam,
held the object to my chest, beat to beat. I said Fix me.
.
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Mari Pack’s work has appeared in Yes, Poetry, Quail Bell Magazine, and others. The Description of a New World, her first chapbook, was published by Dancing Girl Press in 2019. Mari is an editor for Guideposts.
