Attic

The lights have been turned on in the attic Someone has flipped the switch exposing cobwebs, caster oil, crutches newsprint and cheap china Which I'm hesitant to touch least it falls apart in my hands or cracks like the blue Robin eggs I once tried to store in my pocket. I know I should begin cleaning but I dread the cobwebs and I'm allergic to the dust (I tell myself) that's been layering for fifty years Undisturbed I am Disturbed by the invention of long lasting light bulbs, showing me around no, they wont burn out anytime soon and I will open a window letting in the city sounds that drown out the adults fighting downstairs distracting me from my chores.