spare keys

You still have my spare keys.
I left them in your pocket,
for you to find when your eyes no longer skip over them to protect me,
when they are not as heavy in your hand.
Worn from hiking; bent from dog piles; dusty from collected nature;
Cold from early mornings and scratched from all the times they slipped out of your vest.
When you see them again,
bring them back to me.
With the locked doors they’ve seen open,
with the stories they’ve felt.
I’ll be ready to listen then,
and strong enough to carry them.

-w