Passport
a Poem by Raquel Swann
I’m stored in your drawer,
behind the used batteries,
loose change, and that
fancy blouse button
you’ve been meaning to sew.
But once or twice a year,
you’ll need me, frantically searching,
hoping I’m in same place.
Don’t worry, I haven’t moved.
Your international travel plans
will remain in tact.
Flying from country to country,
with me safely nestled by your side,
until you return home,
safe and sound
from the exploring,
and searching.
You’ll place me back in
that dreary drawer,
alone, waiting to be needed again.
