Moved

Out of the bowels of the apartment come the trivia of the past. Old receipts pushed to the backs of drawers, faintly accusatory, records of money and passions spent; Yellowed paperbacks made unseen when new ones double-parked on the bookshelves; Clothes swallowed by omnivorous closets, CDs in cracked cases tugged into shadows, gadgets, trinkets, and other mummified delights re-emerging dustily into the light from the tidy rubble of a home. Not like photos, those records of big things making up the official, abridged version of a life, these are the messy memorabilia, leftovers from small doses of happiness, each a reminder of a moment in time when we were lifted from the rut of days, and cheered, solaced, or moved. Now all assigned to the “OUT” pile, to be shed before the movers come.