Finders Keepers

Finders Keepers

She jeers,
as she grabs the silver key from my hand,
dangles the key ring of the painted, wooden girl
in my face.

Don’t follow me, she warns.

I sit on the bench
in the school shed,
knees pulled up
to my chest
and clean my nose
in the sleeve
of my brown, duffle coat.
I wait for someone
to find me,
but nobody comes.

Years later, I still mourn
the lost, wooden girl
and am convinced,
now more than ever,
that she had my eyes.

 

*published in Other Things I Didn’t Tell