Moving inherently means sorting
through the ages, opening trunks
with missing handles, reaching in
deep, pulling out what feels closest.
I was okay until I found her collar,
tags intact, clinking like glass, thin
pieces in opposition, her name,
our old phone number, still visible.
And one hair that had persisted
through years of storage. That one,
single hair. Isn’t it funny how tactile
our world is? How terminally memorable?
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright May 2, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
