What We Use to Cover Things

The sound it makes

when you tear it—

is not a small sound.

It's the sound of something

ready to break,

ready to make

its surrender.

I wrapped the leftovers.

The careful fold.

The smooth press.

The way you learn

watching someone do it before.

The foil caught the light

overhead—

silver still,

but crumpled,

creased from being used

a dozen times or more.

Reheated.

Rewrapped.

Reused.

The foil doesn't mind

being bent,

doesn't spend

its energy caring

that the shine is duller.

That it's been through more.

It just keeps covering.

Keeps hovering over

what needs to stay fresh.

Keeps doing its job

even after being bent

out of its original shape.

I watched my hands

work the corners.

Fold the edges tight.

Such a small thing.

Such a practical thing.

But the foil was teaching

me something

about being useful

even when you're already

broken.