On the community center’s bulletin board
someone has tacked a photograph of a tabby
and a note: Lost. Answers to Mango.
Below it, flyers for piano lessons,
a block party, a missing bicycle.

I think about the quiet places
where we hang our hopes:
keys on a hook, wedding pictures,
a half-mended sweater on a chair.

A paper crane flutters next to a poem
about rain in early June.
Some people pin their hearts here,
others just errands.