Pottery Barn

The containers held
old odors
mixed with dust.
Residue of oils and vinegars,
flakes of once aromatic herbs,
seeds and petals from flowers
that brightened someone’s day.
Long unread scratches
labeled who and when
and sometimes where,
but never why.

Caress the outside.
Maybe,
like a genie in a bottle,
from the deep, dark inside
the jar will give up
its stories,
secrets,
hopes.