everyone has at least one
of these drawers,
full of the jumbled detritus of life
of many lives lived-

a flashlight but no batteries
a candle but no matches
a few colored pens,
childhood snaps
some old pot seeds from some very old pot

that swimsuit that is the impossible dream
that i’ve kept since age 16
but never had the nerve to wear

deeper still,
deeper down in the drawer:
an old birthday card to jim,
bought but never sent
in the midst of separation

jim’s bandana, red and black
the key to our old apartment in the city,
snapshot of jim breaking camp in the country
scraps of worn out lingerie and silk
seen only by him
movie and music ticket stubs
all seen with him

cleaning out this draw
becomes an archeological dig
of memories instead of carbon dating
and an acknowledgment
that despite the crash
we always cared

i take these objects,
transformed,
and gently fill the drawer
again.