Particles

There is a story

of what was left

behind,

of what we were too careless to carry

We may not know it

at the time

but each

fragment

is a truth

My grandmother hovered—until someone moved her—

trying to put the pieces

back together

crumbs we left in the carpet

one-by-one

she pinched them between

her index finger

and thumb

One-by-one

she gathered information

on who we were

Now,

I glide my hand

over the carpet and

each morsel calls out to me

one-by-one, sometimes

two-by-two

until

I pinch them between

my index finger

and thumb

I gather truths in my hand

I run my mind over

what I’ve left behind,

the forgotten things

I lose time finding them

I never get them all