To me objects are full of emotion, they inspire actions, hold back story, hint at destiny, and serve in place for boring adjectives or verbs. Objects can by archetypes and can be understood by anyone and convey their own unique connotation for every reader. Possibly this is why I've been sticking with list poems lately. Or possibly because sorting items into groups is my way of cataloging a world in which my feet rarely have ever touched down.
Things they carried
1. An old drum and flute we donated to a high school student in NW Minneapolis. Her mother cried when we gave it to them.
2. Your kingergarten report card, a flawless record on yellow brittle paper.
3. The newspaper article about when you won the kite contest in gradeschool, and the kite I bought at the beach when I was seventeen.
4. The old Morgana the Sorceress costume from the 70's which I somehow turned into a peacock blue prom dress.
5. A tiny blue and white porcelain tea set from China, cracked by my brother when he was three and reglued with my pink glue.
6. The wind chimes you bought me on Main street promising that one day we would have a porch to hang them from.
7. The watch held inside a glasses case. Spectacles bought in Seattle by my grandmother bought before sailing to Japan in 1947.
8. Tiny pointed shoes from India marked with the year 1972 given to me in a box from Aunt Polly, as she emptied all her treasures one at a time.
9. The snapshot of our wedding flowers inside my wallet, still bright and true because it was before digital photography and the onset of fading photos.
10. A tiny ivory quill with a carved elephant on top no bigger than my pinky nail. Something I found when I was four years old, in a sand pile on the edge of the forest by my neighbors huge back yard under a barb wire fence.
These things we carried from place to place. Some through twelve moves, and twelve schools on my part and a handful of each on yours. We carried them in boxes and bags, in the back of trucks, moving vans, trucks, and cars, over at least three moves in February over the ice and some in the heat of June and we saved them and saved them. And they are still here with us and may yet prove to be of some important purpose. And we may wrap them up again and move them over mountains or an ocean or two, but some things we carry with us,
I guess that is just what we must do.