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.