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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