Unmatched

In the back of the drawer with the sewing kit pins

I found a plastic baggie of brass.

It’s the kind of collection where no one wins,

just a handful of keys and some glass.

The teeth are all rounded, the edges are smooth,

they don’t turn a bolt in this frame.

I wonder what secret she wanted to soothe

or what door was missing a name.

I carry them round like a heavy, dead weight,

these nubs of a life I can’t quite unlock.

They’re just bits of iron, a silent estate,

while the time ticks away on the kitchen clock.