THE Donation box
Carolyn Caines
Sorting is not easy.
The donation box is waiting.
I know I have too many sweaters,
but what if I need this one?
What if it matches with capris
I may buy next month?
This jacket is not too warm,
perfect for summer just ahead.
The style is out of date,
and I never wear that color,
but it still fits. Look at that.
And I do have shoes to match.
Okay. I must pick one and then
it will get easier, I think.
If I try on each piece, that’s the way.
Jeans too tight? I could lose a few pounds.
Blouse too big? Slouchy is in. Right?
How long since I wore this? I might
choose it someday. It is cute.
Where did this come from? I didn’t know
I still had it. And look, it fits.
Okay. Maybe if I can picture someone
who would really like wearing this shirt.
A slender hand sorts through the rack.
It pulls on the hanger by the sleeve
of my pink, plaid shirt.
The woman eyes the buttons. All there.
She squeezes the material. A little wrinkly.
She holds it up under her chin and looks
in a full-length mirror. Hmmm. No smile.
Rejection. Now wait a minute!
I appreciate it more than she would.
This isn’t working.
Sorting is not easy.
The donation box is waiting, still empty.
The donation box is waiting.
I know I have too many sweaters,
but what if I need this one?
What if it matches with capris
I may buy next month?
This jacket is not too warm,
perfect for summer just ahead.
The style is out of date,
and I never wear that color,
but it still fits. Look at that.
And I do have shoes to match.
Okay. I must pick one and then
it will get easier, I think.
If I try on each piece, that’s the way.
Jeans too tight? I could lose a few pounds.
Blouse too big? Slouchy is in. Right?
How long since I wore this? I might
choose it someday. It is cute.
Where did this come from? I didn’t know
I still had it. And look, it fits.
Okay. Maybe if I can picture someone
who would really like wearing this shirt.
A slender hand sorts through the rack.
It pulls on the hanger by the sleeve
of my pink, plaid shirt.
The woman eyes the buttons. All there.
She squeezes the material. A little wrinkly.
She holds it up under her chin and looks
in a full-length mirror. Hmmm. No smile.
Rejection. Now wait a minute!
I appreciate it more than she would.
This isn’t working.
Sorting is not easy.
The donation box is waiting, still empty.