AFTER THE VIRUS
Someone made a jar that said “after the virus” on it. She’s putting tiny scraps of paper in it; ball-point scrawls of beaches and airplanes, or trips to the grocery store. Mini-golf. Concert tickets. Things we can do when everything is done breaking apart. We’ll arts-and-crafts it back together. We’ll be the glue, the string, the popsicle sticks. And when this is done, she’ll reach into the jar and pull out the world in its new shape.