Pandora

If you’re reading this,
she went out the back door.
Left her bento box
wide open, but she’s not
coming back. A shame;
my name must have escaped
with all those sorrows.
You’re calling me a stranger,
& I’m forgetting myself.
& no, my name’s not
hope, because hope is still
crouched in the corner
compartment, trembling in bits
of lettuce & vinaigrette.
Can’t blame her.
If I was hope, I’d be scared, too.
Harsh life, being useless
until you’re the only thing left.
You’re not listening.
Go your way, then.
Pandora will be waiting.
I’ll be here, looking more closely
at hope. Her eyes are familiar.
Maybe she’s my name, after all.