Airtight
Emily Gordon
You can accept that the food is rotten
or you can reverse time and use Tupperware.
You don’t have to go to a party to get it,
the supermarket has Tupperware for sale,
stacked and nested inside an aisle,
whispering safety and hygiene and virtue.
You can make a train of containers
in your own space, where food prep
will be second nature to you. You too
will be vitamin-driven, storing nutrients
with wholesome precision and economy.
Don’t fear the refrigerator door,
don’t steel yourself for the shudder
of shame when you breathe in
the chilly tainted air. The mold
has not bloomed, the bell peppers
in undreamed-of numbers will present
themselves to your practiced hands.
The Tupperware cups the food like gloves.
It does what we are not able to do,
contain things neatly, hold, and seal.
Emily Gordon grew up in Wisconsin and California and is a longtime journalist and editor. Her poems have also appeared in The Baffler, The Women’s Review of Books, Painted Bride Quarterly, Indie Soleil, HIV Here and Now, Transition, and the Toronto Globe & Mail. She lives in New Haven, Connecticut, and is a sound improviser for the Dirty Little Secrets show in New York City.