Family absent
from a family home
Possessions,
from room to room
Cookware,
counter to sink
Prized silver
on a linen cloth
Depression glass
in a row
Books, movies
lined on shelves
Console stereo,
a centerpiece
Four poster bed
Sold
Empty frames
arrayed on a comforter
Haunting sepias,
no longer connected
Canes,
hand-and-time-worn
Cashier smiling
at the door
Estate Sale
Last day
Memories
Half off
This depicts such a sad time when someone passes away and all the family treasures are being sold for next to nothing. I find it sad but very well written.
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Thank you. Similar thoughts came to me today, as I walked through an estate sale. When I see old photos for sale, I think, “What? Aren’t these a part of family history?”
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And I see that some family members don’t even care to have photo’s of long ago. Takes up too much space and they didn’t know them. For me, they are treasures.
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Your inspiration for the poem only adds volumes more to the imagery transcending throughout the poem. There’s so much crumbled family history, personal loss and shared struggle expressed in the simple words that describe the things we use to make a home. A chair is a just chair. An estate is just land. Or is it?
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