Little fragments of memory scattered all around;
Pieces of me and of you and you and you…
Left lying to collect dust on lonely shelves
And to rot away in dank dark drawers.
From a little brown box full of silver necklaces
And now hanging on a worn doorknob,
A rusted Catholic medallion you hung
Around my neck when we were young.
In the left inner pocket of a ragged black wallet
Two lucky Thomas Jefferson bills hide behind
A retro polaroid of me and you,
Grey and black and polka dot blue.
On my cluttered desk in another home
A crumpled white plane ticket to Colorado;
Four-hundred dollars and one week
I spent for your company, unloved and bleak.
The list goes on and on—
And these are just a few
Of all the things that remind me
Of you and of you and of you…
Of all the pieces of me I gave away
And that came back torn in two.