Emptying Pockets

Unload on the dresser top 
black brick cell phone, keys, 
waxy-wrapped cough drops, 
two mechanical pencils, Hertz 
ball point pen, and wallet 
from the back, its collected 
plastic cards and long fold, empty 
but for a few faded receipts. 
What else? Paperclip. 
Pinch of lint. And 
a hazelnut. 

Fish it up 
from the bottom 
corner, slide a thumb 
over its ridged curves. Solid, 
it was immense between 
your daughter’s finger and thumb 
as, mid-birthday treasure hunt, 
blond hair, half fallen, floating 
around her head and face, 
she stooped, lifted 
from the grass 
this talisman and, 
in spite of everything, 
held it up to you: 
Look Daddy.