The things we keep

I kept the small things.The key without a door,a pencilled name inside a book,the stone you brought from shore.

Not knowing what to call them,I gave them all a drawer.And every time I moved the house,I moved them once more.

Today the light fell sidewaysacross that little collection.Nothing asked to be useful.Nothing needed correction.

I held the stone a moment.The room was very still.Some things outlive their stories.Some things tell them still.