Poem: Size of a Tin Can

Size of a tin can

Just poke around your clutter
your crap, your treasured nothings.

It is the size of a tin can
you may not even remember taking it.

Here is hoping you placed it
in bubble wrap, or a sturdy box.

It was battered, and fragile
when you took it and left.

When you find it, give it back
you bitch. It wasn't yours to keep.

I will hold it in my hands, broken
weak, and battered.

Certainly I may lie awake at night
with my hand on my chest.

Unfamiliar feelings will wake me
startle me, wide eyed.

Confused. Until I become accustomed
to this steady pulse.

Together we will find our rhythm
without any further thought of you.

Though I know nothing
will smooth the dings and dents.

It is mine, and will not be lent
again.