Or,fireflies whimayko


There comes a time in the life

of a long-lived hoarder that

what came in now goes out.

Family should want it  andcherish it and organize and

archive it— that’s it! Archive!

It’s someone else’s life, though, and

will moulder with their own stuff.;

their very own precious  stuff.

Grandma called her china her

“heart’s blood.” –That’s what my letters

and sqiggles and  sentimental

cachets are, “stuff.”  Old photos

tug at  heart–strings, like echoes

of old hymns.  Would it have been

better to let these relics sift

through our fingers at the time?

Much too late, hoarder!  Now kiss

them goodbye and try to smile..                                                                               Nan


About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 83 now.
This entry was posted in A mixed bag. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to STUFF — A POEM

  1. Sallie Carpentier says:

    I LOVE this!


  2. Why are you kissing them goodbye?


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