Refrigerator Door

My hand brushed past

a magnet, weak.

A child's drawing,

time makes it meek.

A yellow sun,

all crayon bright,

now faded, done

with holding light.

Its edges curled,

a sticky strip,

a small, quiet world

from a child's lip.

It just hangs there,

a steady show,

of things we share,

and watch them go.