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Closing the Door on the Icebox of Zero Possibilities O Deep Freezer of Self-Loathing! O Angst-Giver of Great Proportions! I slam your jars of Brewer's Yeast quivering in the door! Fear of cardboard home Skid Row future dogs me, hooked like slabs of meat butchered by my own hand. Everywhere I look shopping carts appear with their shuffling ghosts -- Am I to push and push and push? When I was a girl our Frigidaire was well stocked. Sour milk and bulbous mushrooms proliferated as if the unseen Patron Saint of Family Dysfunction said "Be Fruitful and Multiply." I keep my refrigerator streamlined now just the essentials -- two bottles of champagne and a tube of Necco wafers. Nothing that could turn ugly or grow hair. Cryogenics notwithstanding, I say "Release my miserly vision!" the lowered gaze of diminished expectations. Yes, when I see his shirt flung near a rosy lampshade his tennis shoes scrunched under the couch I think of ripe plums and tomatoes fat as buddhas spilling from crispers, the words of Hafiz and my own silly joy singing, "scent from my beloved's domain carried on the wings of song O bring my beloved to me!"
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