What Settles

The shoebox was exactly where I left it.

Dust had taken it seriously,

a whole ecosystem of forgetting

built on top.

I didn't open it right away.

I just sat with it on the floor,

remembering the person who needed

to hide this thing so badly

that they buried it for ten years,

like discovery would have been fatal.

When I finally looked inside

it wasn't as bad as I thought.

It was smaller.

The shame had dried up, flaked away like old paint,

and what remained was just—

a small stupid thing.

But that made it worse.

That someone young enough to believe

in real consequences

had protected it like it mattered,

like the world was waiting

to judge her for it.

The shoebox is packed now.

I'm bringing it with me.

I don't know why.

Maybe so I remember

that even the things we bury

follow us.