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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

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