Brunch Poem Day 10 (mine).

How can we gesture
toward the gifts
that cannot be nestled
beneath a pine?

Can we repackage
what was intended
for us in order
to save
someone else?

How can we proffer
what we’ve learned
so that others
will know to pull
at the ribbon?

Where is the adhesive
than can press
a flap of paper
to the crest
of a forehead?

At what time can we begin
to slide a fingernail
beneath the fold
of what we’re told
was meant for us?

Who is the arbiter
of who gets
to open what

What is the shape
the scent
the nom de plume
of sheepish

Into which tank
shall we be funneled
so that the liquids
of the year
mull correctly?

Is this really
a test?

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