A broken spoon, a few loose cents,
sixteen months of unpaid rents.
Empty bottles, huge dust bunnies,
last Sunday’s issue of the funnies.

Heirloom china, several books,
portraits getting second looks,
acrylic paint, unfinished art
depicting fragments of a heart.

A still-wrapped gift from Christmas past,
some Polaroids that didn’t last.
One of you and one of me;
how sad that we can never be.

A rocking horse, some baby shoes
we never got around to use,
a home-built bed with mismatched sheets,
a set of chairs with cushioned seats.

An antique vase and several games,
Teddy bears with silly names,
pictures framed with glitter glue,
I drew them just as I turned two.

A nasty, off-white Coupe de Ville
bought sometime in ’93.
A hundred twenty thousand miles
of children’s tears and lovers’ smiles.

So much love, and failure, too.
Mistakes I made while loving you
buried here in hand-me-downs
with all the since-forgotten frowns.


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