Memory of Things

Things neat packed to a shipper box

bring ides of what was

delay what is

and offer recall of days bereft of luxury

short of "what is mine"

a luxury denied of late.

Shipper box promises

like a gift

love inside

scents and tastes of yesterday

My Things

and memory saved by that

at least for today

the day my box arrives

like a gift of myself.

This me after tragedy

after illness and threats of death

at every breath's intake

is too very much to handle

more than I care to digest...

and every surrounding now

speaks that

in jest.

My things...

my scent

my gowns

and a robe fluffed so perfect

n'er part of any bequest but valued

a prie but to me.

Send my things

a flower or bouquet

sure

but my things what smell of me

is a more heaven's scent gift

than any

it washes away odor of age and ailment.

It covers mistaken endeavors long ago

past thru purged ideal

and realizations

odor of sterile rubs and injections

go.

Send me my things of familiarity

that my stay at home should be worth my effort to stay alive.

send my things

the gift of myself and memories.