In the crawl space under the roof,
a taped-up box with the last
DVD player we bought. In the deep
recesses of a kitchen cabinet,
a crock pot with one wobbly leg.
Now whenever I can, I gather up
the bits and pieces of our life
so far— So much that fills
to overflowing clear plastic
and cardboard boxes. Oh!
I must have said once, lifting
a bowl of polished wood, a clever
piece of crystal, a trinket
from a shelf. Now I want
the silence of empty spaces
to sing back to me.


In response to Via Negativa: Fitness.

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