Your Key

I’ve set it on the table
For you
On the side where you will sit
When you arrive.
When you come you will place it
Carefully in a small pocket
In your purse
As if you are hiding a piece
Of evidence
And smile
Or you will poke it aside,
Like worthless currency
From another country
And once again,
You will smile.
I know you this much.
More, too.
You study it
And see that it is attached to a ring
So you insist you can wear it
As a broach,
Or a medal
Until you see that
Holding if flat,
It is an arrowhead from the Neolithic period
Then turning it straight up,
a fossilized tooth
Of an Australopithecus.
This is because
It is to difficult for you
To see
Our history,
That the lock trusted this key
And the key trusted the lock
And that they turned
Together.
Now you turn
It over in your fingers
Like a silver-tipped bullet
From the Civil War,
Squinting, a self-inflicted wound
You’ve just dug out
From your eye.

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