Scrambled Eggs, Rotten Cabbage

She reached for the handle
On the refrigerator door
She pulled
When the light came on
She let go
Standing there
Looking at a dozen eggs
A handful of grapes
Half a cabbage,
A lifetime of opening
The refrigerator door
Now reduced to this last look
Upon nothing that she cared for
Nothing she desired,

She remembered when they
Took her away
She had put ice cream
In the refrigerator side
And apples in the freezer
That was enough
They said
To take her away

If you drop a carton of eggs
Off the roof of a house
Some of them end up scrambled

Every grape contains all it needs
To turn juice into wine

Sauerkraut
Is half-rotten cabbage.