Under Everything

Looking for a pen.

Found instead:

a ticket stub from a concert I don't remember,

keys to an apartment I left in 2019,

dead batteries, two of them,

takeout menus folded small,

a coupon for a store that closed,

three phone chargers tangled,

a rubber band that lost its grip,

an address written on paper the color of old teeth.

The drawer opened wider than it should.

Everything spilled onto the kitchen floor.

I didn't pick it up.

Left it there—

this map of what I've kept,

what I meant to throw away,

what I can't remember saving.

The pen was under everything.

I left it there too.