In my desk drawerare broken things,bits of what were,hopes of what could be.
It’s a journal without wordswhere a red paper clipholds nothing together,and a tape measurenever reached the lengthof a bookshelf.
Tucked in a corneris a faded love letter from my husband,a few words about roses, andhow beautiful I was at seventeen.  
Sticky notes lay scatteredin confetti colors of green,pink, yellow, and bluewaiting for ink insteadof just taking up space.
I should clean it out…send most of it to a waste basket,but not every treasure box holds gold.
It could be my cluttered drawerfilled with broken things, the archaeological site of a dreamerwith a catalogue of stories to tell. 
©Susie Clevenger 2025
You can find this poem here at Hello Poetry also.