Sorting

I found a stack of coupons for bread

that expired three years ago.

He kept them in a rubber band

inside the drawer with the tangled string.

The black garbage bag is heavy and loud,

swallowing the mail and the pill bottles.

It feels like a theft, taking the clutter

and turning a life into a curb-side pickup.

I’m throwing away the only things left

that know the shape of his hands.