Someone, somewhere, has that missing arm
that snaps neatly into Barbie's shoulder;
someone can patch up those jeans, torn and frayed
by time, clean out that ancient coffee pot.
Someone needs an 8-track player in their Chevy,
a jar of random buttons, ball of rubber bands,
someone needs that painting of Jesus knocking
at the door, rays of gold light drifting out.
Someone can restring and tune that guitar.
Someone never read that book in high school,
or heard that album at the right time in their life.
Someone has looked everywhere for that,
then forgotten all about it, then looked again.
Someone has decided to take up bowling.
Someone can save that withering plant.
Someone has just the right photo -- graduation
or wedding portrait -- for that antique frame,
its tarnished brass edges pointing outward
like stars, its bed of black felt empty beneath
the dusty glass, waiting for someone to step inside,
turn on the lights, claim their rightful place.
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