What’s Left

These mute artifacts of my parents’ life
have found a home in my home, silently 
judging me. I avert my eyes, move quickly 
 
past on my way from room to room. Why 
are they here? I should have sold it all, 
removed these reminders of what I did not 
 
do, could not do. A cabinet, photos, a salt 
box and paintings, movies. Quilts and guilt: 
an overstuffed chair.

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