Pinned Memory

Under the edge of an old corkboard,

behind faded notes and forgotten bills,

I found it, a small brass thumbtack.

Its head dull, a tiny circle of rust

where my thumb once pressed.

Still holding up a concert ticket,

from years ago, a band I barely recall.

The sharp point, buried deep

in the soft wood, holding fast.

A small connection, a tiny anchor

for something I had almost let pass.

Just a pin, but it held a piece of time,

shelved away, out of mind.