Wristband

It slipped from the pages

of an old paperback,

a loop of faded plastic,

yellowed, thin.

Still curved

like it remembered a wrist,

a pale blue name,

a date

I almost can't make out.

Just a cheap band.

A small, stiff circle

of a time

when everything was just

a breath held,

waiting.

Now it's just this,

a dry, brittle ghost.