Artefacts from a trunk retrieved from the basement of memory (a poem)

Start with a couple album covers, and go from there…

The medical kit smells of mildew and ether
its contents useless after decades
buried under decaying trees in damp soil

A label, Appliances, stuck to the edge of the lid
has no meaning but for the reminder
of printed manuals kept at the back of the utility drawer
to be ignored with the rest of the varied and sundry items
that always managed to find their way there
sort of a lost-and-found for things not really lost

The photograph sits atop a stack of papers
retrospective interpretations of its meaning
sit uncomfortably with what’s inside the frame

Its scene is far from pristine or pure
a personal reflection of winter’s end
from thousands of miles away
a dark two-room apartment
at the end of the day
fixed on paper
and ravelled from sound

The ghosts of my life sometimes sleep
tonight, I don’t wish to disturb them

(23 June 2018)