Cleaning An Attic

By Brent Pallas

The day had finally come

When everything there

Seemed misplaced or out of place

As an ex’s box of things. The unused

Beside the irreplaceable, the easy-

To-assemble uncomplicated now

By disuse. Some hand

Of randomness leaving behind

Its lampshades stained

Like ancient maps, its ladders

Still climbing upward, and enough

Old tools to restart a world.

Every drawer filled

With the other half of things.

Everything care embraced,

And held once as new,

Left too ragged for another winter

To wear. It’s ring of keys

Dangling by a nail

For rooms left long ago. And whatever

I said I’d never forget

Found, just as it seemed

Completely forgot – all it’s letters

Beginning with Dear….

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