I saved the lift ticket from that trip to the Alps,

saved it because it was written in German with the date stamped on top

I don’t know why I saved it, perhaps I thought there’d be a time I needed it.

And it’s a funny thing but not as funny as what my friend’s elderly mother said

in the quiet of his cabin one nameless day.

She said you know those stickers they put on fruit?

I peel them off and put them under the sink so one day someone might find them and wonder

who put them there. And it was a funny thing to do, we agreed.

And then it fell quiet and we didn’t know what to say.

And silence filled the room, taking the shape of what it had taken away.

And so we sat contemplating that one nameless day.

Categories: poetry, writing

Tags: existentialism, poem