I found it quite by accident,
long after
you were gone.
A sunbeam
through the dirty window
was resting on it,
a celestial beacon
like
a navigator’s star,
or a savior’s herald.
Emotions stirred,
slow and sluggish,
a snail waking from sleep.
I hesitated, standing in
the acrid, arid attic dust,
my heart warring
with my mind,
Do I open
the treasure of us?
Long buried memories
of times past,
of youth and strength,
of love and passion,
of you smiling,
of us, in love.
I could open
the creaky wooden lid,
softened, like me,
by age.
I could grasp
the rich fabric to my cheek,
and twirl the bright coins in my fingers,
admiring their sparkle and flash
in the fading light.
I could let slip
through my fingers
the bloody cloth and the fool’s gold.
But it’s all of a piece, isn’t it?
And I would have
peace now.
I wiped my tears,
and left
the treasure of us
unopened.
I will hold it
in my heart,
in these last days.
For that is enough,
and somehow
more than riches.
Beyond Panic 