a weathered wallet and a zapped zipper
packing a paling pickle of a post-it from a past now part plastic
words on its paper, tiny tethers in ink
cursive and cruel each one of them
a stitch to a moment, a stitch to the moment
the one that stretched too thin while it did
blooming only as wide as the smile I became aware of as soon as I became aware enough
still a moment I could pause for. a moment I did pause for
to take note and to smile. to take note that I had smiled.
don’t bruised things keep broken things safer.
