At The Big Box Store
JoAnna Mak
a second gen couple with a
wheel-wagon kid starts crying
so his mid-thirties mother slows the cart
& asks what happened over and over
her concern so disgusting I duck
two aisles over into a rack of cheap tools to
calm down forget
the boy — think of the bear
plush limb foaming
in the small boy’s hand
manufacturers reduced his seam count
to drive margins high & yet
the product costs the same
not all change makes a difference
grandfather gambled away his wages
& everyone turned out fine
all that anger for what?
seam of something ripping
deck of cards cold
on the factory floor
grandmother pushed
my mother pushed
me down a set of stairs
the family tree won’t admit fault
or consider culpability
are assembly line items
just disposable goods?
if a relative made them
are they also family heirlooms?
today my late-fifties mother
is subbing in
for the sample woman
at the sample stand
she pours juice in cups
‘til their cheeks grow dark
her tray of ice cubes
molded as faces:
grandmother’s, mother’s,
& mine — she wants
to make it up to me I want
to try something new I break
our faces with a mallet
& they land near my mother’s feet
she picks them up,
puts each shard in her mouth
JoAnna Mak (she/they) is a poet from the DMV metro region. She is an assistant poetry editor for The Nashville Review and a film programmer with PrideFull, a QTBIPOC film festival based in New York City.
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