The warehouse bedazzled

A cave full of riches

Smells from Mother’s world

Wafted through

Filling her with almost dread

Boxes piled high

Reflecting a life well garnished

 

Spying the highest box

The Daughter reached

As best she could

Tip toeing

Extending her arms

To where her fingers

Barely brushed

The cardboard

Arms stretched

Ascending, Scaling

Moving boxes

Becoming a metaphor

For final moments

 

With one push

One last empty extension

Her fingers somehow

Scooched the bottom

 

Flying through the air

A trunk full of treasures

Landed in her arms

She held fast

As a Mother

Cradling her newborn

 

The final bits of stuff

Fill the void

Of lost conversations

Each keepsake a delight

 

Post It notes

Strategically placed

Offer comfort

Her voice still alive

Mother becoming

A private tour guide

Post It notes leading the way

 

“George would die

  If he knew how much money

Cleo and I spent

decorating the house…

 “We found that jade frog

  when we went to China…

  Don’t you remember?”

 ”And that silver pattern

is simply scrumptious…”

 

A second box?

Of course!

 

There is silver

Lots of it

Tons of it

No need for cleaning

Delegating the task

Each peace spit and polished

Just before packing

With blue Post It notes

Wanting to insure their purpose

Becoming Mother’s voice

Hearing her clear as day

 

Another box?

Please!

 

Pictures

Life with Mom

The Zoo

The park

Disneyland

High School graduation

Mom in her clowning days

 

Moving boxes and paper

Liter the landscape

While orchestrating a clean up

Of stuffed boxes filled with  paper

A photograph

Flies from nowhere

Mother

Kissing Daughter’s forehead

Again

She runs the show

As well it should be

 

Another box?

Sure…

 

The third box

Less confronting

Crisp white linens

Way out of date

Mother loved to entertain

All cloth

No paper aloud at her table

Excepting, perhaps

A used cocktail napkin

Keeping linens unsoiled

 

Another?

O.K.

 

Treasure chest number five

This one particularly coiled

The ripping

The tearing

Each piece of tape

Reminding her of old wounds

Childhood promises unmasked

Undone, incomplete

 

Rip

Choosing the husband

Over the daughter

The child left alone

Silent

Rip

Promising an adventure

Then forgetting

The child left behind

Silent

Rip

Friends not knowing

Mom had a daughter

The child invisible

Silent

Rip

Silent

Rip

Silent

 

Pain unleashed

Tears stream

Each object

Each gift

Now a burden

Rocking

Hugging

Cradling her grief

 

Aa an explosion of warmth

A calming salve

Comforting

Consoling

Mother’s unbridled tenderness

Stopping cold

The flood of emptiness

Filling her heart space

With nothing but love

Lifting a pain soaked childhood

 

Now understanding

Mother’s deepest regrets

Were her own fears

Yet in her heart of hearts

The daughter always came first

Always

 

Tears flowed

Not from grief

But from

Abiding love

The boxes becoming

Once more

An adventure

A discovery

A delight

Another box?

Yes

 

The Daughter

Reaches into the next

Treasure trunk

Full of silver