Collections

And adding to my last post.


Collections

Collections of trinkets amassed about your home;
paintings on the walls more set to mood
than capturing figures.

Or pieces of birch tree stacked in the corner
of your bathroom as some restroom serving 
attendant who tidied up after I had gone.

Jars of random buttons knocked out from
their orbits and sit atop your refrigerator
as dead lightning bugs who no longer shine.

Even the tattoos that adorn your body,
so few but meaningful to you,
have their places set at your
spirit's dinner table.

I fit into your collection among the 
memories you'd rather forget,
in the mess hall of things that
no longer matter to you.