Where Sentimental Ties Live
I live in photo albums;
in the dust between old favourites stacked on mahogany shelves.
Your bookmark is still here, if you want it.
I live in wisdom teeth that grow much too soon and baby teeth that fall much too soon;
family heirlooms that are dusted and passed on;
lucky socks that weren’t initially yours;
favourite flowers laid on gravestones;
home towns, old high schools.
I live in the spaces you crawled into as a child,
the red-brick house that you eventually outgrew;
baby-clothes your mother still holds on to.
I live in memories with old friends,
the ones who don’t call anymore;
in old songs you
don’t remember the words to like before.
I live in tables, doors and chairs,
things that stay still for years in your grandmother’s house;
I’ve probably invaded all your other spaces too.
I’ve got connections,
I’ve brushed past your friends and foes.
I live in the past, in what could have been and
what will be gained but