
How to Own Nothing When you gave me a drawer at your place to keep my things I told you I don’t keep anything except my promises, I told you the only thing I’ve ever truly owned is my heavy heart But still you gave me this one drawer to come home to I searched the ghost town of my personal possessions And exhumed the things I was too afraid to admit I loved The only photo of my mother pregnant with me An old dictionary annotated with English to Spanish translations My Saint Lazarus pendant The first letter you ever wrote me I placed them in the drawer and I was home
About the Author: Rocío Iglesias is a queer Cuban-American poet. Her work has appeared in various print and electronic publications and can most recently be found in Cuento Magazine and the Piker Press. She lives, breathes, and works in Minneapolis, MN.
Image Credit: Russell Lee “Dresser in farmhouse. Williams County, North Dakota” (1937) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress
Beautiful.
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