In the rush and chaos of moving
things mistakenly left for the junkers
are gone forever. I lost my marbles.
A mis-matched collection of odd, antique orbs.
They fell through a tear in the universe
when I dropped a dresser drawer.
(A glittery green returned to the ocean;
two reds took wing, built a nest.)
There was a special yellow one, big
as the biggest tempting bubble gum
in that vending machine you see
as you’re leaving the store. A novelty
marble, scuffed, but still bright
as the first daffodil. I spotted it
recently on Netflix. It dropped
into Young Frankenstein. Rolled
onto the presentation stage
where the scientist and monster hoof
in white ties and top hats. A point
of color. Remember those enormous
patent dancing shoes? The marble wobbled,
undecided. The stage must have had dips
and waves. What if the monster
stepped on it and fell. What if it hurt
himself falling, skinned something, made
a boo-boo worthy of great human tears.
A real possibility still digitally rolling.