Faded Ribbon

The box held pictures,

bent at the corners,

faces I almost remembered.

And then, this.

A yellow ribbon,

thin as a hope,

tied once, tight,

around letters I never read.

It was sunshine, I think,

a summer dress, maybe,

or a child's bright drawing.

Now, the light has gone out of it,

leached away by years,

by the closed air.

A brittle thing,

almost brown at the edges,

shedding a faint dust

of its past.

I held it,

a dead flower,

and felt the weight

of all the moments

that used to be so bright,

now just this soft,

unfurling silence.