Dad never threw anything away, we laugh, chests hollow
and heavy: a dozen toothbrushes, stacks of Christmas cards,
a legal pad where he’d written the name of every Bears quarterback.
We cram books into boxes; drop a desk
with Secondhand Sue. Proceeds go to the food bank, she smiles,
pushing back curls. It’s magic: cast offs made into meals.
We scrub evidence of life: crumbs in the recliner, coffee rings
on the TV tray. The sink guzzles lemon juice, soy sauce.
In three days a home becomes a blank page.
We hurry, make choices: Danish porcelain bubble wrapped,
shipped to California; grandma’s hutch goes to charity.
I have someone in mind, says Sue. There’s life in that yet.
Somewhere, a golden clock chimes on the mantle of a stranger.
Originally from the Midwest, Robert Darken now resides in Connecticut, where he teaches high-school English. His poems have appeared in One Art, The Orchards, and New Verse News.
Wonderful! This is an experience so many of us share but talk little about.
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