Basement

I found the thermos

in a box in the basement—

my name still written

on the bottom in permanent

marker. The dent from

when I dropped it that day.

The coffee ring won't come

out. Eight months since

I quit and I'm holding

evidence of a person

I don't recognize anymore.

Who was I when I carried

this? When it meant

something? The metal

is still dented. The stain

is still brown. I can't

throw it away but I can't

keep it either. So I put

it back in the box. Close

the lid. That person

stays dead.