I find it fascinating
the things we carry
from chapter to chapter
in our stories.
Not just the memories and scars,
but the dish towels,
socks that should have been mended,
a ring on a chain around your neck,
the wedding photos I have in a box,
your things I held onto for so long
and only returned after you turned
the page again,
poems I’ve written about men
I didn’t really know,
unfinished tattoos
and hope
(at least, I carry hope).


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