Page 84, Boarding Pass

Someone at dinner asked what I'd been reading.

I said oh, this and that,

and moved the conversation somewhere else.

Later, at home, I actually checked.

The last book I read for pleasure:

October, 2018.

I know because there's one on the shelf

with a boarding pass still in it,

sticking up from page 84.

The pass is from that fall —

the destination still printed,

the seat number, the gate.

The barcode they scanned once

and nobody's scanned since.

Page 84.

The spine creased exactly there.

The page underneath the pass

yellowed slightly at the edge,

darker where my thumb would have been.

I must have been reading on the plane

and come home and set it down

with every intention.

And just.

Not picked it back up.

Six years.

I don't even remember

what was happening on page 84.