the dig
purging paper
getting rid of stuff
heartlessly tossing
decades of flotsam and jetsam
it’s a melancholy business
cards, letters, mementos –
reminders of the people
I’ve fallen out of touch with
the names I can no longer
put a face to
some keepsakes bring
a tear or a smile
others – once pregnant
with meaning – now lie
like empty shells
drained of vitality
I find myself
going through boxes
like an archeologist on a dig
the deeper the layer
the more ancient the history
down on the floor
curiously examining,
attempting to decipher
the scattered shards and scribbles
of my own life
01/11/17