It was a Holy Saturday
and I was at the city dump.
I felt to be in a holding pattern anyway;
somewhere between death and life and death and life.
Good Friday left me filled with sadness and I
was tired after those hymns, those prayers, those tears.
I left the microwave oven.
It was a gift from Mom and Dad
on one of their drives west.
The bowl inside was still filled
to the brim
after three days,
I still couldn’t get it out.
I cried before I left Shepard Landfill
and it was about so much more
than the microwave oven.