I select a dented copper kettle, a silver fork
…………..scrolled with acanthus leaves to add
……………………….to the anarchy in my cupboards.

This cream pitcher etched with trailing vines,
…………..inscribed Mark and  Janine, 1991, could
……………………….hold miniature roses. On a rack

I sift through a jumble of silk dresses,
…………..threads secreted by caterpillars who
……………………….gnawed mulberry leaves, spun cocoons,

hoping for resurrection. Tables are piled up with
…………..what’s outdated, stained, faded; a broken
……………………….thermometer registers ninety degrees, but I

slip on slivers of ice on the grass. A doll with a
…………..missing eye slumps in a corner. It’s easy to
……………………….lose myself among these objects dense

with the memories of strangers, now jilted, forsworn,
…………..discarded, abstracted from their real homes,
……………………….those places where someone loved them.