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.



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.