Like someone else's mother's button box
not quite the same
and these lingering threads
and grime are they not just
a little repulsive?
Not meaningful
their stories missing
such as my favourite
big blue button off Sandra's coat
that never got sewn back on
and where is the real bone
and abalone
and early bakelite
and look at this disgusting
cloth-covered nub
off a suspender belt
my God the things some folks keep!
And this absurd picture of Scottie dogs
disgracing a toffee tin
our classy shortbread box- lid portrayed
a Gainsborough velvet boy
I remember days of her
sorting through possessions
as she prepared to enter
her final home from home
she sifted slow with crabbed fingers
that never more would stitch
and preoccupied with beds and chairs
I let her say farewell and ditch them all
with many ornaments
rattling to the landfill bin
and I regret that now
and forever since
catching myself at frowsty stalls
and charity shops
purveying bric-à-brac
hovering over other people's
lost small fortunes
of family collections
but it's never quite the same.

About the Author

Clive Donovan devotes himself full-time to poetry and has published in a wide variety of magazines including Agenda, Fenland Poetry Journal, Neon Lit. Journal, Prole, Sentinel Lit. Quarterly and Stand.  His debut collection will be published by Leaf by Leaf in November 2021.