When you left
I burned everything you gave me
except the pen
gold-rimmed with rich black ink
I was afraid
of how the fire would take to it
so instead I used it
to scribble your name in the flames,
to sketch tree veins on my wall
they brought me inexplicable joy,
to write a letter to my grandmother
six pages of ambiguous sentimentality,
to lend to my little sister
she drew gleeful goldfish
and a woman with pigtails,
to write flowery poetry
in stern, solid black,
to my surprise
the pen was no longer yours to give;
It was mine
and I gave it to
my grandmother, ravenous flames
my little sister and ivory walls
myself
You had given it to me
with good-bye
and I gave it away
again and again
with love