Silver Seagull

The pure silver seagull
wrapped its wings
around my finger
“it’s your totem,” you whispered
     (we were into totems in those days)
as you handed it to me
it turned out to be a going-away present
I never saw you again
and thirty years later
I discovered where you escaped to
wrote you a letter
which you never answered

detritus of our lives

He slid it open with some difficulty

every kitchen has one, the junk drawer

the detritus of our lives

useless bits of string, too short

rusting paper clips

rubber bands that crumble when touched

pins that once held a new shirt in its wrapper

an instruction book on how to operate a toaster?

who would need instructions for that?

the toaster itself long gone

little black pellets whose origin

he did not want to contemplate

an old three cent stamp

            “antiques road show”? no!

and there among the clumps of dust and sesame seeds

what he was looking for

a gold ring