... is not the number of stars,
or poems, or sunsets I've neglected;
....is not how old I hope to be
nor how much silverware I would
like to collect.
....is not the solution for a day
in algebra where my eyes are
itching from chalk dust.
250
is the saffron note from the AAA
Auction, where I bought a box
of items I don't remember.
The feeling of having strangers,
from city slums to country
vineyards, walk to my grandpa's
home next door....
how intrusive and unnerving
it was to hear grass crunch,
porta potties open and close,
voices shout as they picked this
and that, asking "did I drive all
the way to nowhere for nothing?"
They knew little of his life,
yet could buy everything he
crafted, cooked with, touched...
everything that helped him live.
And as I haul my winter coat
out from the dark closet,
I dig it out from the pocket,
as it reads
"thank you for attending".
-
Written 11/13/13 @ 7:17 PM
Last year when my grandpa passed, his children inherited the house and now live next door. They decided to have an auction for of all his things, which my brother and I were quite emotional about. We were upset at first but had to put it into perspective. At the time it didn't feel right but I know they couldn't have kept all his things. I was just shocked a few things were sold, like all the handcraft angels he made. A lot of people who knew him from around our neighborhood came and that was encouraging, but it was weird thinking the auction was open to the public.... where it seemed so loud, everything open, hands grabbing, etc. I did want a little memorabilia so to speak, and I got a baseball cap, one of the many ones he had in his house, but not one I remember him wearing when we moved here.
