from ALLEGORY During the plague, which has become a way of life, I collected the ends of bars of Ivory soap, worn too thin for bathing or hand-washing, but useful maybe later when things like soap begin to disappear off grocery shelves, or what’s left of the money dries up. I imagine tethering the scraps together with rubber bands I’ve saved and lassoed to the glass door handle that leads to the attic. One long winter of the plague a raccoon lived there, in the attic.