Finally took it down

Finally took it down.

The corkboard.

It was in the hall, you know?

Just there. Collecting dust,

collecting things.

Bent thumbtacks, rusty points,

some still clinging to

ghosts of paper.

Pulled them out, one by one.

Tiny pops.

The surface, pocked, scarred.

Like skin after a rash.

Hundreds of small, dark holes.

A map of everything

I thought I needed to remember.

A dentist appointment from '09.

A faded concert ticket.

A child's drawing,

where a smiling sun once shone,

now just a lighter rectangle

of beige, a memory-shaped absence.

What did it mean,

all that urgent pinning?

All that holding on?

Now just a wall,

a blank slate,

but with all these little wounds.

All these places

where something used to be,

but isn't.