I went to the estate sale on a whim
Thinking I knew what I’d find
The detritus of old age, laid out
Pricetagged for your convenience
Wary strangers hauling away parts of a life
Shelves clogged with diet books
Gospel and Christmas music both vinyl and cassette
Bibles and commentaries, uncracked
I found all that but also
Stacks of violin bows, strings unstrung
Batons fit to conduct orchestras
The musicians waiting, sealed, in CDs
All the equipment for adding intertitles
To the 16mm home movies that lay about
Reel-to-reel tapes from a college radio station
Still in their original brown paper
I wonder if, when my time has come
And the estate salesmen crawl through the ashes
Price tagging a life after its close
If anyone will notice, lying there
The hundred tiny stories, now forever lost
For want of someone to tell them

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