Boxes of Books
In the basement storage space
Where tenants get to stow
Those items they’ve collected,
Lots of things now have to go.
They’re cleaning up, so it was time
To sort through what we’d kept,
Deciding what to ditch or save
(Or what I could accept).
My husband’s books on Freud and Marx
He tossed without a glance;
My English major texts and
Certain novels? Not a chance!
Our names were neatly printed
On each inside cover page,
The penmanship reflecting
Either circumstance or age.
Yet it was time to lose them
So we severed certain strings,
Despite the tug of memory
That, after years, still clings.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2020
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