13

On a crowded bus
On a warm, dim, gray morning
On the way to work

Little Thefts

That which no one seems to see
Little thefts of forgotten things
Unmissed, unnoticed, for the taking:
Rhinestones plucked from crushed earrings

A dime left in a drawer of junk
Batteries from a broken clock
An ribbon dropped along the street
A key far wandering from its lock

Scavanged out of dusty corners
A sticker sheet, a post-it pad,
A journal, words scrawled on its pages,
I didn't know that I still had

A fragment of an old perspective
Out from underneath your lies
My worth stolen back again
And my reflection, from your eyes