Personal Effects

May 13 2011

The air in the house

sits motionless,

as if heavier than the air outside.

As settled, and dense

as a body of water

left undisturbed.

So the dust has silted out

in a fine even layer,

and there’s that closed-in stuffiness

that makes you wary

of every breathe.

The scent of darkly polished wood.

Of musty clothes

and papers, decomposing.

Years of home cooking

that infuse the place.

And the door, creaking open

the expanding fan of light,

sending ripples of air

into every corner,

disrupting the stillness.

Like a stone

unexpectedly dropped.

Not that she was a hoarder

scarred by scarcity, or fear

  —  no Armageddon, or apocalypse,

but the Great Depression

had left its mark.

Most of all, she had an eye for a bargain

and one-of-a-kind.

And for frugal treasures,

she was sure

would be of use

some day.

You cannot dispose of a house

like a human body,

by cremation

man-made fire.

It must be done methodically,

dissected

taken apart.
The public face, the private parts,

no matter how embarrassing.
An autopsy

unofficial, ad hoc,

not into the cause of death

but a life, well-lived.

When everything disposed

is an act of disrespect.

And memories are stirred up like dust,

resurrected, then laid to rest

in flagrant acts

of forgetfulness.

She knew none of us

would want this stuff

she had spent a lifetime

collecting.

This was her personal journey

and now she was done,

never expecting to have ended up

anywhere

but here.

The house was eventually sold

for a tidy sum

to a young attractive couple,

besotted with each other.

Just starting out

with next to nothing at all.

We unstuck the windows

wedged open every door

before the deal finally closed.

But the smell of pot roast and onions

stubbornly persists,

in the paint, the hardwood

the varnish finish,

going dark with age.

And although the house

had been aired and gutted,

the scent of lavender, however subtle

clings to its skin.

Which I think would please her.

Because she liked to keep things,

and kept them well.