Mementos

by Mark Belair

Mulling over which mementos
my great-grandchildren may want
so that, one day, they can touch
their intangible history, I know
that life forward
is an avalanche, mementos
pottery shards poking from it, vital
not for their intrinsic value—
I could leave a love letter or porkpie hat—
but for the restored whole
imagined
by wondering hands.