I am not above stooping,
free-box food as good as any other,

the shampoo in half-used bottles still shampoo,
a set of tea lights with only two missing,

a cable sweater with a faint stain I’d put
in the same place, a batik wall-hanging,

a serving platter, an unopened bottle of wine,
all still treasures. The code is don’t take all

the good stuff, leave one book you’d want to read,
split the four chairs with someone still blocks away;

and if you’re the one boxing, scan the sky and
watch for rain; don’t leave anything drained of mana.

Joy comes when nothing is left, with imagining
your castoffs buttoned by new hands, catching the light

on different sills, with picturing someone whose bad day
your gift drains of sadness, no money exchanged.

A true bodhisattva would point the way home
with a sign: Come in. Whatever you want is yours.



About the Poet:
Devon Balwit is a poet, parent, and educator from Portland, OR. Her work can be found both in print journals and on-line. The only thing she likes better than writing is watching her joyful dog catch frisbees in the morning.


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