a pot thrown by my friend Julie
holds the mismatched buttons
from all the department store and boutique blouses
and slacks and other buttoned pieces of my wardrobe
purchased out of need or want or wishing to replace a feeling with a thing.
funny how they come with the extra button that never gets used
so it sits in this now almost full handmade pot (a jar really, with it’s own cover)
with all the other extra buttons that go in and make that same dull clink
as I drop it in and cover it up,
against the day that never comes when a spare button is the very thing needed.
maybe i’m not wearing my clothes enough, not hard enough to lose a button.
and the few times my buttons have come loose, i notice them
dangling on the thread before they fall off and get hopelessly lost
between the cracks in the pine floor slats,
and run a few white threads through to tie them off.
when ever would i need a spare?
but i keep adding to the pot. like that tin of buttons when i was a kid,
and every now and then there would be a rainy day.
me and Kirsten, my best friend until she wasn’t,
would go through the treasure trove of buttons.
there were even antique buttons in there (we were sure they must have been)
and gold trimmed red ones and interesting shaped ones,
very fancy, and looked especially fancy next to the plain brown round ones.
there is something of goodbye in the jar, in the tin,
once the button goes in.