Emptying the Attic

If, instead of a hatch,

there was plug and I pulled it

what would I save from the gush?

A tiny jumpsuit, ABC

dribbling down the front like

spilt milk;

old “Paris Match”, older photos;

letters from lovers long gone;

a letter never sent;

a tidal wave of books, some

effervescent with old obsessions;

The ms. of an unpublished novel;

badly-painted World of Warcraft toys;

oodles of bears (did they breed?);

juvenilia—to burn if it weren’t so wet already;

“Rocky” the rocking-horse, lame now;

cards sent to my children to say

sorry I’m not there—I’m away,

busy, working, sorry;

cobwebs, dead bees, dust

damp and cloying

sticking to my breast as I try to hold onto

everything?

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Comments

  • Kat Mortensen  On April 6, 2011 at 1:35 am

    Very nice! I can so relate to that “tidal wave”.
    Petrified of bees.
    Glad I found you.

    Kat

  • bulltlr1  On September 28, 2011 at 5:05 pm

    Well written…
    What I ended up with after years of hording material items, trying to preserve memories, was a huge disposal bill.

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