The part I need to leave behind
is small
but still rattles around in my heart
like a bottle of water on the floor of the car,
always gurgling, bumping up against
the seats, the door
with every sharp turn
or rapid stop, mystifying me
with my inability to find it at traffic lights.

But I will.
Find it, I mean, and pick it up,
spin the top off,
gulp down the remnants of H2O
that have been waiting years
to enter my soul,
and throw that blasted bottle
in the recycle bin,
ready for someone else to melt it down,
remold it, and create something new.