(about 1992)
On my closet shelf
at eye level
is a collection.
Memories I've gathered
from someone
who gave so freely.
Tickets, eggshells, a lollipop.
Flowers, signs, cards, a jar.
Pictures, and answers.
I look at them every day
But see them only sometimes
When I take a second glance.
And even touch a few things
Because I miss those fun times
And look forward...
For more times
to gather more things.
And I always leave more room
on my closet shelf
and in my heart.
For with such a friend,
Memories and keepsakes
are always growing
in number, in meaning.
What happened to make all these things:
A colorful note signed with a nickname,
And eggshell put back together with tape,
A stale every-day lollipop with a grass-stained stick,
Picture receipts, answers to a game we once played
(to find out what color we were),
Bent postcards with messages of endearment,
Lagoon tickets we decided together not to use...
What happened to make them all so important?
Perhaps the touch of a true friend in my life,
and the promise that even without those scraps,
the memories will always remain in our hearts.
