lost and found

    i. key-chain

    An orphanage, the intimacies
    of umbrellas, wallets, rings and diaries
    unremembered. The secret
    insides of someone else’s
    pockets. A nursing home,
    brass unfingered bones
    tarnishing in the dark of neglect,
    a graveyard for keys.

    This one could mean love
    in stolen afternoons, a corporate tryst.
    Home or goodbye. Flotsam or jetsam.

    These letters. Their wet cursives
    long ceased their weeping, surely
    the aftermath of an affair, some tearful denial
    indefinitely postponed.

    ii. moratorium

    Incurable nostalgics drop by
    when they die or dream on the way down
    the corridor to antique shops,
    museums, libraries.

    Do lost souls linger like this, in a waiting room
    for the second coming, complete
    with namelists, rules and padlocks?

    iii. metaphors

    How easily we shed of ourselves.
    A sports bag. Someone’s childhood.
    A piece of mind. A broken heart. A cause.
    The theme to Hawaii Five-O. Virginity.
    Owner please report to the office. All items
    will be disposed off after one month.

    The scent of storm at sea. Your mother’s
    dumplings. The smell of rice. The way
    your wife used to use her fingers. Here
    is nothing you’ve misplaced nothing
    you’ve lost nothing.

    iv. memory

    An unwritten sign:
    Your keep-sakes are as
    inconsequential as ours.

05 October 2001   23:52 hours
sea and sky { } book