Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: July 8.17

If you’re getting too complacent

and your life is too benign

just dig a little hole

and plant a For Sale sign.

No words speak of chaos

with greater eloquence

or open greater floodgates

of diverse bamboozlements

than these two simple syllables

 which open up our closets

to strangers’ cold inspections

and our own uncertain posits.

 

 

 

Connections

 

 


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Connections: June 11.17

At the corner of Useless and Broken

near the Unresolved/Hopeful junction

a city of storage arises

awaiting its Extreme Unction.

Fragments and miscellany

tethering us to — what? —

the past? a loss? a wish?

a monument to glut?

Irony in cubes:

crowded emptiness

in corrugated sepulchre

I own my need for less.

 

 

 

Connections


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Connections: May 9.17

My grandma had a tiny house

if you take a yardstick measure

but it was huge in other ways:

curiosity and treasure.

The coolest stuff was hid away

but I knew where to find it

and she would let me hold it

and tell the tale behind it.

Now I’m packing up my house

which means, I’m sure you know,

packing up my family

striving to let go.

Memories sneak in everywhere

in closet and in drawer

one thing leads to another

as I’m sorting on the floor.

You will understand, I’m sure,

I hyperventilate

when I note the Christmas card box:

45 for $1.98!

And thus do different eras

re-tell themselves to me

as I wrap the family flotsam

as if crown jewelry.

Connections


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Connections: April 20.17

Cold recurring thought

from which there’s no escape:

is this what it all comes down to —

bubble wrap and tape?

Is this how I preserve

bits of family lore?

I must insist on NO:

that’s what my words are for.

Wrapping family hand-me-downs

in paragraphs and pages

is how we bubble-wrap

our stories for the ages.

Who cares? you ask. Who’s going to read?

Oh, someone will, somewhere —

a curious, amused

incredulous distant heir.

The unknown genealogist

no matter he or she

doubtless brilliant, charming

in fact, a lot like me.

And thus my thoughts run on

unburdening shelves and drawers

caught between the memories

and the unknowable encores.

Connections