ABOUT THINGS

It remains a mystery to me,

How the mundane arranges itself around us,

To reside in nooks and crannies we overlook for years together

Tiny scraps of paper, immaterial objects we once fancied,

Half-squeezed tubes for ailments long healed, memorabilia from people long gone

Talismans and chains, beads from broken jewelry, and books buried under dust and negligence

A Coaster you picked on a trip a decade ago, wires to electronics you no longer remember,

the train tickets from a ride last summer, still stare back at you from the pile on your desk.

And a childhood photograph that has not found space on your wall

The lamp that needed repair some fortnights before your last birthday,

And drawers that are too little to hold the things you don’t need

The notebooks and pens that have remained hopeful of your return

Miniature idols of gods that your mother refuses to throw away,

And a chair that seats no one but your discarded clothes from each weary day

How much of it do we really love? How much of it would we ever need? How much of what you own is really you? And how much of it would you get to keep?

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s