consequential things we carry in secret
next to our bodies,
the corpse of a lightning bug I once tried to save
mingled with blades of withered grass,
an intricately folded invitation to the muse
in the swirling handwriting of my teenage self,
a holy card of the patron saint of mothers,
the lucky penny my son carried
the winter his grandfather died,
the dog biscuits I found in Grandpa’s jacket
a year later, which the dog happily ate.
Ellen Romano is a graduate of San Jose State University and former elementary school teacher. Her work has appeared in december and is forthcoming in Crosswinds Poetry Journal.