Spring Cleaning

Old letters; a gift  check two years past

its claim date; four photographs of the old gang;

an empty bottle of perfume, a gift, I think,

but I don’t remember from who or for what occasion;

an “Only Love Matters” button without the pin;

a receipt from Tequila Joe’s, faded, almost

indecipherable, but you can tell we ordered

quite a lot; two coins from Singapore and one

from Melbourne; a piece of paper folded over and over,

and all that is written inside is a name, “Adrian;”

a CD that no longer plays but is labeled “Dance Music 2002;”

a ball pen without ink; Jay’s college ID; a brochure

for a program to learn Japanese in Tokyo;

my sister’s first cellphone bill; and a box of matches

from Sommerset hotel.


With steady hands,

I place all these in a box,

no larger than the size of my fist,

open my mouth wide,

and swallow it whole.


Some things you must throw away

and some you must keep with you forever.

And that which lay in-between

find their way in the far end of your heart,

the one closest to your gut;

only to resurface

through the benediction

of remembrance.



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