Member-only story
Poem
Why do we keep ceramic jars, a
bronze owl that shimmies and a clay
figure that looks like Merlin on
a shelf?
Why do we collect things that
have no real use — not like a pen
or a potato peeler? What is the
attraction?
Photographs I understand. Of child
or wife or beloved cat that’s not now
sitting on your desk purring, because
she loved being near you.
Those things remind us that we are/were
loved. That we live/lived and had
moments worth treasuring. Always
a good thing to remember.
But a carved wooden turtle whose head
bobs, painted purple and green — what does
that tell us? That we were there — wherever
that might be.
That we moved through time, made a mark,
did the tour, bought the trinket, and now
have it on a shelf. Is this a good thing
that makes our life whole in some way?
