Should I open them or not,
These last beans from the shelves
Plucked by the healthy hand of a life of labor,
Placed nonchalantly into a basket
And driven from town in the arthritic automatic car.
Here, the can sits, now lovingly placed as a monument.
The last one purchased by the man before the incident,
Should I leave it like all the other ornaments around the house?
A reminder of life’s maintenance, when things were normal,
Before the bacteria crept out from the hospital walls; and did its worse.
There, I have opened it.
But each cooked mouthful is a reminder of my singular meal.
This “Last Supper” of one, as I consume the remains of his days,
Tasty memories of the shopping he so enjoyed.
So holding a legacy, I AM nourished by food and love.