The Vase

Standing in the attic,

Surrounded by cobwebs and dust,

I stare at the boxes.

***

Moving day was coming,

And I needed to shed myself of some belongings.

***

Picking up boxes,

Feeling their weight,

Something catches my eye.

***

I shuffle to the corner of the attic,

Opening the box and gasp.

***

There it was,

The middle school art project I thought I lost years ago.

***

My tan ceramic vase,

With a chip at the top,

From when I dropped it.

***

I smile,

As I hold it tight,

Vowing not to lose it again.