'Where Do We Go From Here' by Julia Smith

I’ve been collecting things for when you come back; shells to put on a string, dry bones, bus tickets to other towns, stones from cherries that I rolled in my mouth, corks from bottles I never throw out. You would smile wryly and say I was tender before rolling me over and licking the excess. The jar catches the light on the kitchen ledge and invites worrying thoughts. It might take more than I believed to hand over that treasure trove of times you chose not to be there; the weight of it too much for us to carry