a bare rod and two wire hooks
in an empty closet where the
orange carpet has not faded
white cotton sheets shield the
emptied shelves where fruits in
mason jars were once stacked
in the rec room a few boxes of
old board games sit on a counter
above the now empty cupboards
the bar shelves where bottles stood
and glasses perched, some to be
filled on those cold empty nights
the lone lamp left stranded on the
paneled wall glows a forlorn survey
to soft lit the quiet emptied room
the twin beds up in the attic room
are for sale, along with the three
bedside tables long emptied out
strewn on top of a shag rug are
some old frames and scrapbooks
emptied of photos and memories
two empty vases at a dollar apiece
wait to be filled with bouquets again
bright as the one painted on the tray
the dull red basement door is locked,
bolted and barred as always, even
while the house is emptying all out
Ann and her late husband Lou had lived in this house for 60 years - 60 years of cumulative belongings to empty out, to eviscerate piece by piece to the best offer of the nostalgic gatherers, the predatory collectors, the ambivalent deal seekers... [addendum: in the end, what did not sell was trucked away by junk removers who charged Ann much more than she ever paid for any of it brand new]
When the house is emptied of the last chair, lamp, book, picture, ornament, tool, memory - will it remain to be re-modelled and refilled with new chairs, lamps, books - or will it die in a dusty heap of splintered wood, crushed doors and shattered glass... [addendum: it died a most destructive death, the whole lot obliterated in a day except for the single holly tree on the southeast corner, and now, a dull red duplex with cream trims has replaced the old white house with the bright red trims]
I preserve a few images of this home in memory of Lou who built everything in it, who tended the garden meticulously, whose paintbrush was ever handy for a fresh coat, and who died in his own house - never having to see it now, in its sadly empty state... [addendum: all gone now, wiped out and replaced like it had never been there...how quickly the memory clicks off and long lives dissipate]
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