A memory.

Torn from my book like an

unflattering picture.

It was broken.

And frightening.

And ugly, besides.

But you kept it.

A little scrap of fabric from a filthy and

shredded quit.

Underneath the grime

and the picked out stitches

you saw a coat of many colors.

So you kept it.

Not for blackmail,

or schadenfreude,

or a tear-jerking meme…

But because…

Well, i don’t know why.

I never asked why

you kept it.

The memories from then,

dark and underexposed,

that i left to rot in a basement

riddled with

black mold and rats..

You took your copy and put it in a safe place.

And when you showed it to me, it was

as if i’d found a baby tooth,

tucked away in a forgotten jewelry box…

You kept it as a souvenir.

And now i have it again.

A picture still unflattering.

A piece still broken,

and frightening,

and ugly, besides.

A scrap of a quilt once devoid of value…

Now a symbol of victory.

I can see it.

I see it because

You kept it.