Obsolete Needs

I found the list tucked deep in my coat,

a mark of a grocery, a dead-handed note.

I was buying for us, back when I knew

exactly how much almond milk meant to you.

The blue ink is bleeding, the paper is thin,

the cilantro is blurred where the dampness crept in.

I don't need the lemons or the bread for the toast,

I’m just standing here holding a handwritten ghost.