I am of the age where I have
a cabinet full of
Emotional Support Jars (TM).
These hefty glass
and ceramic containers,
I have harvested
with love and care
from local sources:
the fridge
the pantry
and on occasion
borrowed from —
if not returned to —
unsuspecting
loved ones.
The Interwebs told me
there would be Use
there would be Purpose
there would be Value
there would be Reason.
My husband sees:
Obstacles
Clutter
Chaos
Confusion.
And I had made
the mortal mistake
of saying out loud that:
"Babe! We need
more storage space."
I had meant, like,
Let's do a kitchen reno.
But he had only heard:
"We own too much."
And now, here I am.
Sitting and contemplating
both my flawed mouth
and my vast collection.
I was able to successfully
campaign to keep
those cheery red and white
magical jars of endless need:
the Bonne Maman
— both traditional full-size
and mini perfect jarlettes.
But these petit yoghurt cups?
The ones with no caps?
The ones that I can buy
aesthetic wooden caps for,
online?
The ones that are
wobbly and irregular?
No, I could not
convince my peer
that they —
not even the wee blue ones!
— deserved any
of our precious shelf space.
And so, with a
perimenopausal pout,
I relented.
I scooped up
these pots
which I'd
collected all year.
I clanked them
en masse
into the household's
glass and cans
recycling bin.
I said a short eulogy
while serving side-eye
in the direction of my
visionless husband
[I could hear him groan]:
"Dear little pots
of much promise,
may you find joy
in a future form.
Long may you carry."
