Decluttering
​
Unwedge the stepstool lodged
between the refrigerator and wall. Reach
the smudged stemware, mismatched
survivors from my mother’s life.
Drench them in
fragrant water.
Decant the champagne. Spill it
into a memory-etched flute,
empty it under my son’s foot.
Shatter – and seal – a covenant.
Unearth my grandmother's shawl buried
in the cedar chest. Unravel
threads of stories
tangled in the fringe. Pass it
to my daughter.
Press my face against my mother’s
fading silk scarf. Cover my head
in its muted scent.
Burn white candles
in tallow-spotted candlesticks.
​Shroud my eyes.
Chant the blessing.
Reshape memories in wax
scraped from brass.
Uncork my tongue.
Let no truth linger
on its tip.
Undress. Drop Love
where It lands.
Keep only
what my palm
can carry.
​
– Linda Belans