They keep
adding up,
the moments, and
the words to
describe them,
and I carry them,
like winter,
like my sister’s piggybank,
like what happened
that night
at 42nd and Baltimore.
I carry them,
tucked deep inside
my pocket, until I find
someplace warm and safe
and comfortable
where I can take
them out to examine,
one by one, holding each
up to the light,
turning it,
like a mysterious artifact,
this way
and that.
(c) 2017, By Hannah Six
Photo: Marrakesch, In den Souks, by Giggel
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