We hold onto things

                                   

PART I

I folded over the table

where I was  folding newsprint paper

around a picture of something

I wanted to hold onto.

But I couldn’t; I folded it tighter

hugging my fist wrapped picture

to my forehead,

but the tears just came anyway.


It was a picture of a toddler

in a tiny swimsuit

with safety bubble on her back

by a swimming pool.

She is carefully guiding the pool skimmer pole

with her little hands

gathering those annoying bits of leaves and fly parts

that she doesn’t want to swim with--

--little master of her domain.

A sweet moment captured in a frame

a symbol of all the moments I am holding onto. 

                                     *** 

                                    PART II

I have held onto so many things.

There are millions of emblems

bouncing around me.

with their nagging little voices:

Remember me, Love me, Save me;

receipts, old financial papers—

how long do I keep these?,

pictures of everyone I ever knew,

a broken demitasse cup—

a little glue and it would be like new;

an earring missing a pearl—

surely I can find a little pearl to restore it--

handmade baby clothes—

really? Do I need handmade baby clothes??

                                    ***

                                    PART III

This moving thing is not just about packing:

save, give away, trash. Oh no, it’s much more than that.

At my age, I am jettisoning huge tracts of my life,

entire chapters in the shredder, debris down the drain.

Is there any reason to be reminded of any of it anyway?

I shall relegate all memories to that “Where did I put my keys?”

region of the brain.

Their work is done.  Those memories made me.

I need not carry their detritus around with me anymore. 

I need not trail a dust cloud of impertinent minutia.

It is time to fly the coop, leave the nest

of accumulated possessions and lessons learned

and just be.  

So I can just go…

                                    ***

                                    PART IV

Each successive move, I strip more away.

In both possessions and memories.

Soon I will be living in a hut.

Thinking about the present.

Inspired by Suzanne