Half-Peeled Sticker

Pulled it from the attic dust,

that blue canvas, old, half-burst

at the seam, a silent trust

carried from the past.

The leather straps, they're stiff and cracked,

like old hands, time's indelible act.

And there, a sticker, still intact

but curling, letting go.

SEA, it says, then two letters more

half-gone, a trip that was before

my time, but hers. What did she store

in this, when she left then?

Not just clothes, I bet, but hope,

or maybe burdens, hard to cope.

Now it's mine, this dusty rope

of memory, ready for a new weight.