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;

a nomad,

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

eventually

lost.