Currency

Image

I lost a page of poetry
of loose leaves
never bound
but joined by meaning.

Lost in flight
over a place called home,
I’m a spirit hovering over its own body.

Here I am, separate
but still connected,
at 30,000 feet.

I write my feelings on a napkin,
fold it and carry it with me
like antique currency that can’t be spent
but must be saved.

This is the currency
of nostalgia—
writings of what I remember
and what I am sorry to have forgotten.

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