Lost to the Floorboards

My cat, she’s a hunter, low to the ground,

batting at nothing, or where nothing’s found

by me. Her paw hooks, then retracts,

beneath the old dresser, where the light attacks

the dust, a shimmering, thick gray coat,

and something else, almost afloat.

A button. Brass, I think, or something plated.

Lost from a coat, long since outdated.

It’s been there, probably, a decade or more,

since the last tenant, or the one before.

Too far to reach, just past the edge,

a tiny, tarnished, forgotten pledge.

It sits in darkness, a small, still thing,

waiting for what? A future spring

cleaning that never comes, a new regime?

Or just to be a part of some forgotten dream?

I wonder whose it was, what coat it kept,

what pockets closed, what secrets slept.

It’s just a button, rusted, slightly bent,

a tiny life, unspent, yet truly spent.