Memory Shopping

I went to the market looking for an old piece of metal
dug out of the dark earth somewhere much further south than here.
A door knocker fallen from rotted wood
accidentally oiled by child fingers in summer.

I found a bell, most certainly not antique
that rang with an assertive yell
each time my bicycle went over a crack.

I hurried home to where I hung it above my window
glinting dimly, garnering the wind.
It is not a knocker, but a bronze voice that still ushers visits
from my long gone wife, saying, "It's a nice day today."