things get lost.
keys and loose change and security blankets and innocence.
certainty and imagined futures and places we’ve called home.
faith and the bus pass and inhibitions and connections.
sometimes the lostness is
sometimes it is a grief.
sometimes it is a relief.
sometimes it is the beginning, the way life becomes separated into before and after.
“some places things get lost”
- under the bed.
- in translation.
- on the playground at recess.
- cracks, in the floorboard, and porch steps, and the psyche.
- down the drain.
- on the airplane. in the hotel room. under the seat of the rental car.
- in passing.
- in ideas of right and wrong.
- in time. not really time. but perceptions of time. the way it suddenly turns bendy, and you can’t locate what you once thought was irrefutable. or the way you give yourself over to a thing and then it is hours later and you lost yourself somehow, in that time, even though you also were found.
- the bottom of the ocean.
- freshman dorm rooms.
- we don’t know where. that’s why they are lost.
- in accusation and blame.
- on the side of the road.
- in menopausal brain fog.
- in the mail.
- in the childhood you left, when you decided to grow up.
- at the back of the closet.
- on the operating table, while unconscious.
- to the person who came in and took them and left.
- where you last left them.
- in the space between who you used to be and who you are becoming.
- in the woods.
- in all the moments when you decided you were ready, to let
something go and be happy.