Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about a dull thing that you own, and why (and how) you love it. Alternatively, what would it mean to you to give away or destroy a significant object?

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Significant or dull is such a relative term. What is significant to me may look like junk to you. Here’s my poem for today.

I rummage through my cupboard-

What is the dullest thing

that I love and can give away?

I look and look –

A pink wrist band, the size of my little finger. Has a name
and a weight on it – strapped by the hospital on her arm before

they handed the little bundle to me. ‘ Doesn’t fit the bill.

Its not dull yet.’

 

A cane basket, filled with knick-knacks- has my first offer letter;

a souvenir coin from the zoo at Salzburg, a Unesco Diary used

as a make-shift autograph book in college. Each page tells a dream

of a friend written under the headings- ‘Where do you see yourself

in 10 years from now?’ Also what advise they had for me under

‘ A few lines for me.’ I must keep it safe for our next year’s alumni meet!

 

A ticket to the prom- a black card, sleek, never used; misplaced on the

day of the gala event. Can’t give this away. The memory is as fresh as ever

–the drama that ensued. She in her blue sequined gown, her eyes painted

with mascara on the brink of spreading down her cheeks, colored with

soft pink blush. Her daddy nervous and proud. How we ran to the ball-

room to explain the mishap before she stepped out of the limousine,

the memory makes me smile.

 

On the top shelf a packet of greeting cards- before and after we tied

the knot. Too heavy to bring down. What use would it be to another?

I leave it undisturbed.

 

On the shelf, over it are bags- Louis Vuitton, Michael Kors, Gucci,

each kept with care. ‘ Be careful,’ she says from the door. I’m

perched precariously on a chair, ‘tippy-toed.’

Mom-in-law’s leaving tomorrow. ‘Do you have a bag you can give me?

Mine has a tear. Only if you have one to spare?‘

 

Wait! Tied in an off-white silk drawstring bag, is a red hand-bag-

a farewell gift given to mamma before she left for her treatment.

It has the tag and the stuffed paper inside it still. I gave it with no

second thought.

‘Are you sure?’

I couldn’t have been surer in my life. It was mamma’s after all.

And now ‘mom’ was using it…it had gone where it was meant to.

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