Rust and Paper

Pulled it off the wall.

A puff of dust, gray snow.

The outline of its square,

lighter than the rest.

Pin holes like tiny scars.

A rusty thumbtack, still stuck,

holding nothing but air.

Behind it,

a concert ticket, brittle,

ink gone pale as bone.

A grocery list, forgotten meals.

A business card for a place

that died years ago.

All those small, kept things.

Just trash now.

Just the ghost of trying

to remember.