Curating

The Victorians knew how to keep the odd keepsake,
locks of hair, dried blooms, death masks.
Flowers and Jewels, all had symbolic meaning.

Butterflies and all manner of dead bugs were curated,
pinned to the afterlife forever.
Few now have the patience to collect, label and display.

We are the display now.
The selfie, the vacation, and the dinner we ordered
are now the collected keepsakes of existence.

When we go the way of all dead things
these pictures will be pinned to clouds.

They will not gather dust nor fade,
for they were never that real anyway.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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