Inside Jokes

Where will all my inside jokes go?

Do I pack them with me,

Roll them up so they take up less space in my mind and my luggage

What happens when I get there?

Do I keep them locked in the trunk underneath my bed

Do I wear them like bracelets, clanging, crying, pulling attention and questions 

Or like sunglasses, weighing me down, forcing me to look back every time I take a step forward

Maybe I’ll lay them flat and pull from both ends until they become string, weave it into a quilt, or sew a hole in my jeans, or tie up my hair,

Show myself that I can move on and not forget,

That the past has a place in the present,

And that jokes, although not timeless, can travel

This poem is about: 
My community


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