Sitting here in my living room and looking at all these objects I’ve acquired, wondering how in the world do people find the will to part with items which hold memories of loved ones attached to them.


Still Life

Collected treasures
rest where they’ve always rested.

Owls and birds -
on canvas, in ceramic, in carved wood -
keep watch.

A Hummel figurine, chipped
while dusting,
once a collector’s item,
now just a shepherd boy
with a broken sleeve.

A mug made by a grandchild
sits beside a cross stitch
his mother stitched
when she was small.
“I love you, Mom.”

The candleholder on the piano -
first gift from a love
now passed on.
The candle never lit.

Dates blur.
The occasions dimmed.
What remains
are the things themselves.

So many of them.
One day
they will sit on crowded metal shelves
at a thrift store,
priced by colored stickers.

Someone will turn one over
in their hands.
Maybe they will carry it home.

Or maybe they will see a gift
for someone they love.
Then it will rest again
on another shelf,
in another home,
in another’s memory.



Poetry by Melinda K Zarate The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2026-02-13 at 03:49

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I enjoyed this rather sombre poem because it reflects thoughts that my wife and I have/had. I'm a great believer in the saying "You are where you are because you were meant to be there", and I think that applies to the kind of objects you describe - they will find their intended destination as the world carries on. It does, of course, bring up the question as to whether you will actually worry about such things after you have 'returned home'. But that is another question.
Blessings, Allen
2026-02-13