Boxes of newspaper wrapped dishes,
and shielded glass in picture frames
I’ve resided here for half my life.
More frequent moving in more youthful days
not needed or necessarily desired —
Unless I could turn my back
and be there
without sorting through stuff.
Taking only recollections with me
in the boxes of my mind.
Thumbing through stored clothes
my consciousness wanders
Is this too vintage?
Is there vintage vintage — like my racy aunt’s 1940’s blazer that I’ve preserved for another 40 years…
…or my mother’s creepy high heels that mimicked the Wicked Witch of the West’s?
come running back
like a long ago lover
I’ve forgotten to miss.
Each dress recreates a juncture,
that I don’t want to discard…
doing so feels too dementia-like.
Protective plastic covers up
confectionery scenes —
that captured job interview,
a lifetime of memories
in the closet
of my mind.