Residue II

When we were long distance, you became obsessed with a sandwich.

A grinder.

Too big.

Cut in half.

Wrapped in white paper.

You sent me videos of it.

The same one.

Over and over.

I forgot about it.

Today it appeared on my feed.

Between kitchens and linen dresses.

I scrolled past.

Then back.

Not because I wanted it.

Because it remembered you.

That’s how you come back now.

Not as memory.

As suggestion.