The velvet box was heavy with the weight of gold and stone

The velvet box was heavy with the weight of gold and stone,

her Sunday rings and pins that caught the dusty afternoon.

But tucked beneath a locket that she used to wear alone

was a relic from a different, older, weirder sort of June.

A single rubber band, gone white and brittle with the years,

was coiled inside the lining like a secret she had kept.

I picked it up and felt a sudden rising of the fears

for all the little fragments that we save while others slept.

I gave the thing a gentle tug and felt the sudden snap,

the dry and dusty perish of a thing that’s held too long.

It’s a strange and useless treasure to be left inside a trap,

a tiny piece of nothing where the jewels all belong.