Residue I

I go to the movies alone every weekend.

In the bathroom there is always one roll of toilet paper.

Just one.

Loose.

In New York we bought toilet paper one roll at a time.

Not because we were careful.

Because we were poor.

One roll was enough for a day.

I don’t think about this when I see it.

My body does.

Every time, I want to take it.

Fold it into my bag.

As if later still exists.

I don’t need it.

But my hands don’t know yet.