The Collector Poem by Kyle Schlicher

he keeps things to himself.
nothing is lost.
every item has a place,
a time to catalog it by.

the past is kept in a particular nook
where
he hoards the bad dreams,
the hurt is buried nearby
within reach
should he find it necessary
to draw upon the pain.

he needs no map,
he remembers
where everything is stored.
memory indexes the information.

i watch him
as he goes about each day
collecting more of what
everyone else throws away.

maybe one day
the collection will pay off.
pain,
hurt,
the past,
death
and
nightmares
are much too valuable
to throw away.

(9-16-1979)