Not My List

I found it in the pocket of my coat—

receipt paper, five items, someone's hand.

Oat milk. The good mustard. Those crackers

from whatever brand

she used to order. The writing curves

where mine goes straight.

I don't buy any of it. I've had

the coat since late

last winter at the earliest.

I set it by the sink.

Three days now. I haven't thrown it out.

I don't know what I think

it would mean to throw it out.