It feels incomplete…maybe

Among the more virulent paraphernalia I lost
a bracelet from ninth grade, made of recycled copper coins
holds the field for most tears shed
from young eyes aged 13 to 17
it was held together by a blue ribbon strap
and had my name embossed, by a golden thread
it was a special kind of gift
the kind given to those one considers beneath one’s station
in love, consummation and other such mores
I’m not admitting to nostalgia
or to the vanity of young love
but simply to the idiopathic desires
that plague the human mind
and paralyze it from the waist above
if you are a man, you are already numb
the rest of the way, but to have
you heart in the grip of a solemn conflict
is to confess to embodying a human being
capable of something more
than looking at a memory from
a thousand years ago, and then tossing
it into the pile of stuff
you may want to sell, in order to move ahead.

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