treasure

navigating the strings and magazines
buttons that have lost their shirts
end tables stacked with broken records
whose songs still needed to be heard
stacks of photos of people she’s never known
but who had daughters and husbands
and mothers who loved them once
weathered books, pages yellow
full of wisdom, she was sure, but never read
past lamps and shades that have not yet
finished giving off their light
and boxes, variously torn, that once held
birthdays and anniversaries and just because
and mail from places unknown with promises
of happiness and safety and beauty
shoes that may have walked on holy ground
drawings of ships and flowers and hands
paintings of fields and clowns and elephants
she finds a place for the doll she found
left in the trash by some careless child
who, of course, must not have known
because who could abandon something
that was so clearly in need in love
she placed it on the pile of other dolls
and planned to stitch back its hanging eye
clean the dress sullied with spots
replace the stuffing in its spine
below the dolls in similar disarray
would keep it company while she slept
beneath her treasures because she knew
that at least they would never leave her.

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About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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