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New Treasure

When I was asked where I want to put my treasures
I was shown a metal safe and a beautiful vase
I thought the safe drab, and so chose the vase
I was proud, indeed, and showed this to all who’d look

Then, a stumble thrust the vase high
Down it came, and shattered
I was cut, so cut that I could little move
All the beauty of that vase was now but shards of memory

I noticed among the treasures, those treasures laid bare
Something I had forgotten I’d added
It was a toy I’d stolen as a kid and tucked away below all else
For I did not want to remember it, though I dare not throw it out

I picked it up for the first time in decades
Studied its dirty, broken exterior
Paint marred from years of rust
And thrust it down in disgust

Just then an old man walked near
“Say, young man,” said he, “how much for the broken car?”
Why, I asked, would he want it?
“It reminds me of my own car, years ago.”

He removed from his coat pocket a car, polished and clean
“It looks like you had an accident. I was like you once.”
He walked away, nothing more said,
But I saw his scars, much like those that would form on me

Then I knew that those things before me were not my treasures
That vase I showed to all was not myself
It was show, but the thing inside, the broken thing,
That was me

And the thing the man had made from his past
That was him
That was the becoming
That was me, too.
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