spring cleaning

i stand in front of my closet and touch the sleeves
of dresses that stopped fitting me years ago.
i think:
i have a hard time letting go.

a checklist of things i have kept:
every card i’ve ever received,
pebbles from a Venetian sidewalk,
flowers pressed between book pages
from a bouquet i was scared to let die.

i have ticket stubs stacked up in drawers,
textbooks piled high on bookshelves,
shoeboxes, school assignments,
small hands curled into tight fists.

i think:
if i lose all these pieces of me,
will anything be left?

i think:
museums must be so tired
of only having room
for dead memories.

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