-for Ruth Chew
As a kid I had a book
about a secret box,
kept under your bed,
that collects missing things.
That was the magic I wanted,
not the power to fly –
but to recover.
Sometimes before
you’d noticed
what you lost.
There it would be,
found.
He’d found a pic of a WWI
soldier who looks just like him.
It explains a lot, he says.
Why he dreams of helicopters.
Always felt old. And that was only
our first year of college.
At the time, reincarnation,
just as a concept,
was enough to change us.
A biting tunnel of winter wind
eating snow out of a bowl.
Only the old battery radio
and gas stove work.
Your phone is a flashlight
until it’s gone.
Open all the cupboards
for an old memory
that will fit into
your new life.
Your grandmother’s sheets,
with teal and orange dahlias.
Twin sized.
The softest sheets
you’ll ever sleep on.
That don’t match any
of the beds in your house.
Common Poem 