attic

by dm gillis

I am my reflection in the glass
tall & standing in the middle of age
sure of the custodian who minds my years
when I am unconscious of their passing 

there is a box of things here
people in old fashions
items they wore to ceremony
in their flag and streamer decades they
said things then that
would sound familiar now
but it’s easier to believe they would not
that their words were absolute & that
mine are unfinished 

I feel the air move here in a way it
does not
in the rest of the house

 

 

 

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