Bobby pin, button, lozenge, dime.
Souvenir, emery board, obsession
with time. Lay them down.
Phone number on a slip of paper,
you can’t remember whose.
Your aunt’s old postcard from Galapagos,
your inability to choose. Lay them down.
The angry words you want to speak,
the grudge you work so hard to keep.
Your petty predilections, small
& senseless premonitions. Lay them down.
The marriage you thought would last
your whole life, dreams you once had
as his faithful wife. I tell you: Lay them down.
Unburdened as you’ll later be, relinquish
one more thing: the birth name you gave
your younger child because now she says it’s dead.
Though it stretch the string between your heart
& head, though it nearly snap in half,
give it up, let it go, lay it down, too.