I am an honest woman sometimes.
I tell my children and my friends
I LOVE presents. you may always
send me presents. Even if they are
teeny. Once, I got a bobby pin from
a friend I rarely see. Another time,
3 jelly beans in a tiny plastic bag.
Today I got a package. It is small,
tightly wrapped in brown paper.
tape and string are involved.
The return address says, “From Me.”
Who is "Me?" I don’t know any "MEs".
I don’t think I do; if I do, I’ve forgotten
them. The package isn’t heavy at all
and it doesn’t smell like anything
in particular. The return address says,
“From Me” as if that tells me anything.
I open carefully--wary of cutting the gift
while trying to get it out. Cut the tape,
cut the string, open the box. In bubblewrap
something light brown sits. It does not
move. It is a MUSHROOM, whole and
perfect. Underneath, a card. Someone
(“Me," I guess) has printed.
I KNOW YOU LIKE PRESENTS.
DO SOMETHING WONDERFUL WITH THIS