Evie Barton

POETRY

Yard Sale

Toys in the yard, everywhere
Scattered dreams
Finding new hope
In the hearts of little boys.

Yard sale.

Old house,
Old stories.
Old lady
Finding new home,
New dreams.
All goes on quietly.

Drumbeat.

Thirty years here
Thirty years is more than time
Thirty years is the universe
In the grey house
With the daugher
Helping her mother say
Goodbye.

A parcel of papers in the attic…
“Propoganda por Latvia”
Boxes filled with letters
“Those were my father’s”
Her voice says this calmly.
Inside, a heart is weeping.
“My father,
My father…”

Echoes in the attic.
Were he alive
This home would not be changing
Dying as it were.

Transformation.

Why must it leave?
Why not leave it be?
A memorial,
A sacred sanctuary
For those who care
A pyramid for the old lady,
This home filled
With all that it was,
Old coats never worn
Old dresses in closets
Quiet like the lady
Gently smiling.

Simply being there.

Were she a queen in Egypt
None of this would be
Her story now
Would be a journey
With all these possessions
Placed carefully around her
To help her on her way.

But she is living
And so is her daughter.
Wisely now
They both move on
Carrying this home
In their souls,
The life that was here.

Five more days
“Til it’s over.
New family comes in.
One dream moves over for another
Holds its hand out
And says goodbye.

Gracious on the outside,
Who know the pain inside?

Yard sale

Sidewalks know the truth
They feel the drumming
They know this is more than a
Yard sale.