Inanimate Objects - Feb 28 2023

 

Inanimate Objects

Feb 28 2023

One button eye lost.

Stuffing leaking out.

The threadbare covering.

So it was a homely looking thing,

limp and lumpy

with a cockeyed gaze

and mousy fur.

But the teddy bear was loved.

And to me, endowed with life.

Which is just human nature

and how every child sees.

Even grown-up children

animate things.

We name our cars.

Blame computers

as if they conspired against us.

And how keen would you be

to wear Hitler's sweater;

as if a well-laundered garment

smelling of mothballs

had the power of transference?

The walls have eyes.

Your favourite chair welcomes you

with open arms.

The object

you cannot part with

without feeling disrespectful.

Not after all you've gone through together.

And the keepsake

that's all that's left of them;

as if it contains

a still beating heart.

Who knows why

we can't resist projecting life

into inanimate objects.

Or, if not life

call it what you will;

self-awareness

agency

sentience.

And when cleaning out

your folks' old house,

that worse-for-wear teddy bear

you couldn't bear to part with.

The plush toy

you rescued from the junk pile.

Took back

to the small apartment

you shared with your wife,

but were too embarrassed

to let her know.

Laid to rest

in the bedroom closet

at the back of the highest shelf,

the thin body

put gently in its place.

And were surprised

when you heard yourself say

in a fondly wistful voice

sleep tight

before closing the door behind you.