Last Day

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LAST DAY

Cardboard boxes stand stacked against the wall.
The basement is already empty.
There is no spare time.

We must clean and polish and make things shipshape.
The latest owners will be soon here
claiming their keys and their rights of entry.

Empty bottles of old memories stand disordered:
quarrels, wild words, making friends again;
my mother’s body slumped at the bottom of the stairs,
or lying senseless in front of the television;
her bloodless face pale above the stretcher
as they carry her away.
We launch a last desperate hunt through the empty house.

How many memories must we leave behind
with that one last look through the closing door?

How much of our former lives can we capture?

NOTE:
Another Golden Oldie from the last century, the last millennium. This one appeared in The Antigonish Review. I dedicate it to all those who are about to sell their houses and move, and particularly to my friends David and Ana.

 

9 thoughts on “Last Day

  1. “How many memories must we leave behind, with that one last look through the closing door.”

    A touching poem. The aforementioned lines in particular stand out for me, a question so many people have and will encounter. It’s relatable on many levels. A lovely piece. Thanks for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. It was a difficult time: crossing the Atlantic, selling everything up, returning home with so little. It always felt like a shipwreck to me. It’s true that we survived … but we lost so much. Flotsam, jetsam, bobbing on the waves and washing away.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. R: David and Ana are selling their home? Chuck

    On Mon, Sep 26, 2016 at 9:29 AM, rogermoorepoetdotcom wrote:

    > rogermoorepoet posted: ” LAST DAY Cardboard boxes stand stacked against > the wall. The basement is already empty. There is no spare time. We must > clean and polish and make things shipshape. The latest owners will be soon > here claiming their keys and their rights of entry. Emp” >

    Liked by 1 person

    • Rereading these “golden oldies” I to wonder “how much of our former lives can we (re-)capture”? There are days when so much seems to slip away so fast. I notice too a tremendous difference in my early writing and y later poems. Has my style ever changed!

      Liked by 1 person

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