• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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Everyone keeps something close
Folded like a handkerchief
In their pocket
Worn like a favorite scarf or hat
Kept in a box of stones and shells
And dried leaves
With the dust of summers past
Still on them
Or carried like an old book
Lined with their grandmother’s prayers
In a language they never learned to read

These are mine
Flickering like fireflies
In a jelly jar
Small lights I depend on
Holding the secrets
Of stories I used to believe
The rules of games we played
On the sidewalks and in the alleys
My dreams of trees and water
The first time I saw the ocean
And how I watched
the moon in all her phases
Rising above the rooftops
Promising some always returning
New chance
Even for the worst of us



Dragging our sins behind us
Still unwilling
To let them go