Old Notebook
I'm writing this
in a notebook
that I've had since
I was nine or ten years old.
It's so hard
to get rid of things
that have even the slightest
sentiment attached to them.
If I get rid of things,
I'm afraid of the memories
that will disappear with them.
I'm the only person
who could possibly know
what all these things mean.
No one else will understand
why I've kept them,
all these years.
Even this poem,
written in this old notebook,
is meaningless to everyone
except me.
But I write it all the same.
Just another thing
to get rid of.

TMK 7/15/04