Put away.

Suddenly, all of those things
became things,

as if you’d been some fading princess,
giving them life. They’d glowed,
under your glances, your touches,

shimmered with memories.

Without you, all those stories
detached themselves, drifted,
and their anchors – bone china,
knick-knacks, Indian brass,
the Wedgewood plaque –
were dulled. Wrapped and packaged.

Put away.


Sarah Russell is hosting at dVerse. She set up bar last night, asking us to write a poem full of an unnamed emotion. 


10 thoughts on “Put away.

  1. Stuff. I used to trail my wife around antique malls — we’ve learned to enjoy our leisure time further apart — and I always felt such pathos for widowed and orphaned stuff, once the iota of a person’s identity, now adrift. You nailed the nuance.


  2. This one is especially poignant to me, Sarah, since I am sorting, and tossing, and giving away things that have so much history for me, but only for me — not my children or even my spouse. No one knows, or wants to hear about that history. In the end, they’re just things, aren’t they.


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