By Julia Zichello
They took it away
must have been in the blue of night
And by the time we noticed it was gone,
it was hell and gone.
Now a subtle not-as-dirty square sits
where metal legs once met the sidewalk.
And a gaslight burns bright.
All the emotions that thing swallowed
it was a certified powder coated poem
stuffed with sincerelys, I love yous,
and let’s see each other again and again.
The slipping something inside
there it goes,
and whatever it was,
off it went.
All the birthday cards for the ages
Those that were funny,
or kind of funny,
or just kind.
Some things you need to hold to feel
like water for chocolate
but for card stock
and party invitations
even those that promised to be fun, but weren’t really
photo holiday cards I can’t seem to throw away
and complaints in hard copy
postcards with their hearts on their no envelopes
and thinking of yous
And stamps on parade!
Like sugar plum fairies for philatelists
dancing in the dank
miniature masterpieces for movement
from my place to yours
And where exactly did it go?
the way of that flightless bird.
Object impermanence of the weirdest kind
A down the block discombobulation
Is it really gone?
And am I really here?
It was like a dream,
the kind no one wants to hear.
It had been filled,
and filled again,
but was empty in the end.