To Bring New Memories and Meanings

I’m waiting in a Goodwill line to dump a load of clothes,

 lighten up the cupboards of redundant stuff I’ll never use

when I begin to watch the U-Haul truck up front.

Two men are lugging furniture, dragging it across the drive.

A middle-aged woman points to which item to unload next,

no doubt hoping they'll bring new memories and meanings.

 

A spigot inside my head breaks open and now water is

running down my cheeks. I take off my glasses to dry them

which messes up my vision and all is blurred.

 

Instead of strangers panting, walking back and forth,

I see my sons heaving with exertion as they dispose

of the last bits of family furniture when I am gone.

 

Goodbye, little wicker-seat rocker, once

just right when age-six-someone had a mommy,

now too low for same-someone now a grandma.

 

Farewell, handsome console table my mother set

the candelabra on and lit them all for festive meals,

now displaying artifacts I'd otherwise lock away.

 

So long, Governor Winthrop desk dear Grandfather 

brought so he could work at home sometimes,

now storing my scattered treasures, paperwork and dust.

 

They’ll all be in a massive Goodwill place

awaiting for the “o-o-o-h, look at this,” and

taken away to fill an empty space or need

to bring new memories and meanings.

 

For minutes I am in another place,

looking down from another life

seeing the final march toward nothingness.