Saturday, July 9, 2011

Poem: Yard Sale

Yard Sale

It is a morning alone,
and you sit on the front porch,
a few scattered antiques
on your front lawn, serving

as an excuse to keep you home
and write.

Here and there through the morning,
people stop
lured by the patina of old wood,
or the dull shine of dusty brass.
Their fingers caressing the grain,
remembering perhaps,
or imagining.

One by one, things leave
with these strangers, to new homes
that will love them more than you,
where they will not live in piles of clutter
in a back workshop,

and your joy is not in the pittance
you are paid, but
in knowing that while you sit and write
in the morning sun,

you have played matchmaker.


This morning I found out that there is a townwide yard sale in West Pawlet, and it gave me a chance to clean out my project room, and make myself stay home and write. The picture is of my front yard halfway through the day. You can click on it if you want a larger view.



Tess Kincaid said...

Yes, matchmaker, indeed. Lovely.

Margie said...

Loved this one!

Margie :)