Five Worry Beads

This is for the whites of eggs I failed to coax
to airiness, so they puddled at the bottom of the bowl

This is for the ring of silver I was given
but lost one day in a shower stall at the gym

This is for the gate I thoughtlessly let swing, that hit
the child traipsing behind full on the forehead

This is for the years that stretched like doors
in a dream hallway, so you couldn’t hear my voice

This is for the compass rose that turned and the weather
vane that tilted when I opened my arms to embrace the wind

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