Jerrell Jones Poet Rhyme

The Attic

"Today I will climb to the attic and raise the blind,
Where narrow heat lies thick and stale, confined
In that closed room; and I will jar the window loose
And pitch what is no use
Among those random piles of yesterday's
Right clothes,  knick knacks sold on highways
Claiming I was there;
Furniture forever spare,,
Those old collections of my former ways,
And, hidden in that yellow haze,
That tiny box of letters stuffed so tight
With lovely lies to fill an empty  night."

So, saying, she ascended with a sigh,
Breathed hard and deep, and then began to try
To sift and sort vast rummages of time;
But, moving up there wordless as a  mime,
She felt a present chill of missing hands,
New urgency from packed away  demands,
Stares from gone eyes, a silent moan--
She was alone.
She turned and went back down the stairs in sorrow--
"Perhaps. . . tomorrow."

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Jerrell Jones November 20, 2015 at 8:09 AM There is an attic in the mind where all one's past is kept. Don't go up there alone!