Found it in a box under old tax forms and string

Found it in a box, under old tax forms and string.

My grandfather's Zippo, a solid, heavy thing.

Silver, with a small dent, right on the corner, sharp and deep.

Like a secret kept, while the rest of the world sleeps.

Cold in my palm, though the day was warm.

I flicked it open, remembered no storm

of words from him, about where he'd been.

Just quiet hands, and a tired, far-off grin.

The hinge still stiff, a small metallic click.

A faint smell of old fluid, making my breath catch, quick.

He never lit a smoke, not once that I saw.

So what was it for, this hard, unyielding law

of silence? This cold, dented piece of his past?

Like a small, hard stone, meant to outlast

all explanation. I just closed it again.

And felt the weight of everything that remains unspoken, then.