The House of Forgetting
It was never simple.
The boxes of photographs
stashed in a breathless crawlspace.
Silver tarnished by neglect
that no one wants.
Files, drawers of files
crumbling under their own weight.
Cookbooks without spines
leaning into notebooks of medical manuals.
Unasked questions
hang like broken bones
rubbing against me as I enter
the house of forgetting.
It is time to put away
the ambiguity, the contradictions.
Time to decide
to clean house.
December winds cleanse
the New England tableau.
As I leave
the door slams behind me.
I love this title.
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