The Drawer's Spill, Or, What Stays

I needed the tiny one,

for the hinge,

the one with the blue handle

that’s chipped.

So I pulled the drawer, too far,

and it just

all came out.

A cascade of buttons,

lost earrings,

a dried-up marker, cap long gone,

its felt tip hard as a pebble.

Old receipts, grayed-out numbers,

a key to nothing,

a bent paperclip,

a dead battery.

It felt like a small, sudden argument

with myself. All these things,

kept for no reason,

accumulated,

like stray thoughts you can't

quite shake.

A little heap of what was,

what might be,

what never will.

And the hinge still loose.

Just sitting there.