The car hasn't moved from the curb in three days

The car hasn't moved from the curb in three days

and the neighbor noticed the mail piling up.

She knocked on the door through the afternoon haze

with a plastic bag and a steaming paper cup.

It’s a thick, heavy wrap in a foil sleeve,

built with a kindness I didn't ask to own.

I took it inside and I didn't want to leave

the hallway where I’ve been staying alone.

The mayonnaise is soaking through the white napkin,

a cold, fatty weight against the palm of my hand.

It’s a messy sort of grace to be taken back in

by a person who doesn't need to understand.