Relics

I am the folded piece of foolscap,
found
in a forgotten box.

Open me carefully,
who knows,
what I might contain.

No words,
only small pieces
of dark, brown tissue;
or so you may think.

You will ponder,
take a magnifying glass,
to more closely seek
their origin.

And slowly,
through twenty-some
years of memory,
it will come back to you.

These,
are the magic mushrooms,
Rachel sent you.
Never tried;
you were afraid, to fly like an eagle.

And see:
now they are dehydrated,
to almost stains,
upon this paper.