I Break Up Houses

I start early in the morning sometimes,
this fading of America’s

a little tarnishing of everything

a rattle of the camel bells
hanging from the door
to the back porch.

This was at your grandma’s house,
this memory of green Formica and chrome,
the table where you ate sliced bananas
and Cheerios

and you loved them
even though you hated

I steal memories
and I break up houses so that
women named Pansy can take everything
and sell it.

Oh, what a beautiful morning.
Your music box is gone.


2 thoughts on “I Break Up Houses

  1. Thank you! A lot of it is real detail from my grandparents’ house, which was emptied out by a professional estate sale lady named Pansy. I was in high school at the time, so not in the position to take in Formica tables even if I did know how cool they are. And now, of course I’d love to have some of those things. In the finished attic where my brother and I often slept, my grandmother had a little bronze music box that played “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” from “Oklahoma!” As I typed this comment, I got a vivid scent memory of that attic and of old metal.

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