CVS

I shop
like a born-again Christian,
Korean mother
attends church,
repeating my list
prescription, tissues, paper.

I pass two old men in the cold and flu aisle.
Their baskets are biographies.
They are sick; they like mint tea.

The men share their home remedy for cancer
as I compare before and after
sale prices.

How do you hold your future together,
life and death placed in the same basket?

Before the cashier calls,
"Next,"
we will pray to the milk and juice aisle to nourish us.
Ask the vitamins to bless our bellies and bone with long lives.
In the confessional aisle of seasonal shopping,
we will whisper how lucky we are to pass another holiday,
how we go too long, undecorated
waiting all our lives for the perfect pumpkin to go on sale.
We will open the box of chocolate hearts.
The first one we bite into will be a cherry of our
last love's kiss.
We'll sing hymns to the Christmas lights until
we bring in the new year
always brighter than
the one before.