The Mystery of What I Hold

My friend reached under the seat

and pulled it out, that thing so discreet.

"What is this?" she asked me.

I didn't have an answer, you see.

It was covered in dust.

I'd forgotten it. I must

have put it there years back.

I don't know why. I lack

the answer to that question.

She held it up with intention.

"Why do you keep this thing?"

I felt the silence ring.

"I don't know," I said.

And that was my thread.

I didn't know.

And I wouldn't let it go.

I've kept it in that spot

for months. Maybe more. I've got

this thing under my seat.

It's a strange kind of heat.

But I would never remove it.

I could never refuse it.

And I can't explain

the comfort or the pain.

She handed it back to me.

I put it where it should be.

Under the seat where it stays.

Through all of my days.

Where I won't think about it

until someone asks about it.