my mother found photographs beneath the refrigerator
in our first house. I always wondered
how they were lost, why no one noticed
they were gone or knocked on the door to ask for them.
maybe they fell from the fridge, dropped
by a weak magnet, or maybe
they were stored in a box above, stuffed so full of memories
that a few escaped undetected. maybe
they belonged to the house; taken to remember
them by, in case they forget. I have not
forgotten.
I wonder what I’ve left behind: a pebble picked up
at the park / a bobby pin blending
into carpet / a chip in the paint / an earring
back / flecks of nail polish / the sense of knowing
who I was and what I wanted /
Katherine J. Zumpano is a Pisces, poet, and WWU grad. She lives in Bellingham, WA, with her boyfriend and houseplants. When she isn't writing, she enjoys baking, candlemaking, and watching Star Wars. Follow her @katzumpano on Instagram and Twitter for more poems.