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what we leave behind

my mother found photographs beneath the refrigerator

in our first house. I always wondered

how they were lost, why no one noticed

they were gone or knocked on the door to ask for them.

maybe they fell from the fridge, dropped

by a weak magnet, or maybe

they were stored in a box above, stuffed so full of memories

that a few escaped undetected. maybe

they belonged to the house; taken to remember

them by, in case they forget. I have not

forgotten.


I wonder what I’ve left behind: a pebble picked up

at the park / a bobby pin blending

into carpet / a chip in the paint / an earring

back / flecks of nail polish / the sense of knowing

who I was and what I wanted /


This piece was originally published in Sledgehammer Lit, June 2021.

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