Wednesday, March 26, 2014


I stick my head up
into that dust, hot wood 
and faint hint of dead rat
smell of attic.

Carved wooden box
on a shelf softly webbed,
light for it's size when 
I pull it out
and set it on the bigger 
box on the floor below.

Not much inside.
A mint tin of child and puppy teeth.
A green satin ribbon spiraled into a coil.
A picture of my baby brother 
when he had long hair and
still loved me.
A small corner cut from a larger quilt.
A dog collar with tags, that sniffed,
still smells like her.

in the next offering:
A silver ring embossed
with red Black Hills gold, set
with a square garnet.
The lid closes snugly, as always.
The clean print in the shelf dust
covered once again.

Spider on the shelf,
tell your grandchildren
I will be back with more.
The cool hallway below
smells like grass
and furniture polish.

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