Closing the House
Jane Vogel
They rolled you quickly out of the cluttered den
with your broken hip,
without your papers or TV
or even your sardines and bananas,
to a sunny room
where you could choose the memories.
And we slipped in,
briefly, at first
with offerings of fried fish.
Broke biscuits over the chosen stories,
those best days.
Back at home, we cleaned.
And sorted through bad choices.
Saw it all again: files, frames and boxes.
And the dust bunnies
spinning even farther underneath
your favorite couch. My eager broom
whipped the air that drove them.
Fragile skeletons rolled together
tall and strong in the shadows.
They dropped to flat, dusty piles
when swept toward the light.
Finally.
Jane Vogel
They rolled you quickly out of the cluttered den
with your broken hip,
without your papers or TV
or even your sardines and bananas,
to a sunny room
where you could choose the memories.
And we slipped in,
briefly, at first
with offerings of fried fish.
Broke biscuits over the chosen stories,
those best days.
Back at home, we cleaned.
And sorted through bad choices.
Saw it all again: files, frames and boxes.
And the dust bunnies
spinning even farther underneath
your favorite couch. My eager broom
whipped the air that drove them.
Fragile skeletons rolled together
tall and strong in the shadows.
They dropped to flat, dusty piles
when swept toward the light.
Finally.