Button, Missing Person

Yesterday, I found a button on a bus seat.
It was from a pair of denims,
and it had the word “Buffalo” on it.
This land has not seen wild Buffalo
in some time.
They were hunted to near extinction-
Their bones and blood reside in all of us.
Perhaps the name was meant to inspire
feelings of freedom in the wearer;
a journey.
This brass button once held up
someone’s pants;
held their junk in place.
This button once touched
someone’s skin;
their future and history.
Now, it rests in my jacket pocket.
I play with it like a lost bone.
I turn it between my fingers,
admire its ridges,
hear its faint sound.
My fingers feel its past,
and go back over its surface
again and again.