Trash Reclaimed

I dove my hand into kitchen scraps,

fingers sticky with old coffee and wilted leaves,

touching the curve of paper, a photo bent

and smudged by time and spills.

Corners curled like dead leaves,

surface sticky with yesterday’s mistakes,

but it held a face, a frame —

like a secret drowning beneath the garbage.

I pulled it out, breath caught tight,

clutching the edges like a rescue

that tastes like regret and hope mixed,

not ready to let the past rot away

without a fight.