Just For Looking At
A black powder 1868 colt revolver.
Dad’s rusty Buck knife.
A few old Zippo lighters.
Ivory figurines haggled over
with an illicit trader in Shanghai,
same for a two hundred year old
silk rug never trod upon.
A tin box with a broken clasp
containing some things
I cannot now speak of.
A few other keepsakes
that when I look at them
remind me of how I got here,
and how I sometimes
lost my place.
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