The Package Poem by William E. Marks

The tenth of March – the package arrived
on a chilly, windy, clear, sunny day
The same day I saw from my desk window
a Swallow-tailed Kite slowly flying close circles
Around a Red-tailed Hawk – as if in
conversation

The package had just returned from India
with wrapping crumbled, torn, dirty – and a
dangling yellow tag marked from Mumbai
Crisscrossed by tightly tied yarn with one
strand purposely sealed with blob of black wax

Oops – a stink bug landed on top of the package
I fetch a piece of toilet paper, and moisten
one side, in case the bug needs a drink
I nudge the bug onto the tissue
and place both beneath a dark glass on
bedroom dresser – with a Post-it note to
remind me to release the bug in next day’s sun

Now, back to The Package

Yes, it had been opened and then resealed with
a strip of brown packaging tape imprinted with
red letters “Foreign Post Mumbai” and red letters
in Indian, which I assume say the same