Susan Staneslow Olesen: Lost

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By Susan Staneslow Olesen

The truck arrived
And took your things
But not the chair,
The one you promised me
When I was six
And didn’t know nice people
Didn’t talk about death
Or ask for people’s treasures
While they were still alive.

The paneled maple walls
And hand-hewn floors
Echo with your voice,
Your shuffling footsteps.
Your house that was
Your grandma’s house,
That was her grandma’s house,
The one you’ve left to me.

Some might restore the floors
Paint the walls
Tile the fireplace
Reap that market value.
I want the room as it is,
History-etched walls,
Your chair by the yellow-warm fire,
Waiting for your tea.
What is worth restoring
If I can’t restore you?

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Write the Story: February 2019 Collection

One thought on “Susan Staneslow Olesen: Lost”

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