“Jars of Glass”

I always liked the jelly jars the best.
The ones with the bright groovy lids
that never seemed to go back on again.
They sat in the white metal cabinet
downstairs, collecting knick knacks,
dust, and anything else that did not
seem to belong. I peeked in on them
from time to time, sliding my fingers
along their round rims— imagining
their original intent for this world,
before meeting trash cans, boxes,
or basements. Grape never tasted
more purple. These jars were older
than I and seemed the perfect hiding
spot, inside that white metal cabinet
that my brother never creaked open
because he was afraid of the ghosts,
more than I was. My best guess is
that they are still there, just like me.
Still there, waiting to be found—
patient as glass jars.
narrative poem written on 09-17-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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