last chance 

i watch you paw through
the last chance bags at the back
of the market. where we go 
the grocers round up the fading
apples & wilted cilantro to make
dollar bags. i used to resent them.
the pooling rot liquid at the bottom
of the plastic. spilling mush strawberries
into the sink like melting hearts. 
now, i look forward to what we salvage.
sometimes we find worms & let them go
into the back yard. once, a crow.
another time the bag was murky.
when we opened it we found a little 
replica of ourselves. you were dry
like old carrots & i was ready to collapse
from the inside the way cucumbers do
when you have waited too long. 
we did not know what to do with them.
you said we should eat them. i said
we should bury them & never speak 
of it again. when i feel like the world
is ending i try to remind myself that 
we are not the first people to feel like we live
on a last chance. there is sugar in 
the heavy cantaloupe & the mold-knit blueberries.
when the sky was red from the fires
a few months ago i pretended we were
just inside one of the bags at the back
of the market. you told me it is dangerous
to play too much pretend in times
like this. you save the seeds. you swallow
all that you can. today we have grapes.
we eat them as fast as we can.