Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Signs of spring seem to be everywhere, including signs for yard sales. As I was roaming the neighborhood this past weekend, the signs decorated many telephone poles. In honor of this, I am posting my yard sale poem. Yard sales have always been a bit layered for me--there is always that sense of wonder--someone's discards are another's treasures--but there also is a sense of melancholy too.


When someone else’s sadness
sends me out, I fill the hours
with the temporary distractions
of other lives.

Down H Street
dresses softened like old paperbacks
a tin John Wayne wastebasket
two flannel nightgowns hanging in frail fullness
miniature Christmas firs crafted with plastic needles
a 1972 Music Circus poster
I touch everything
fingers gliding over
all the possibilities.

until I have seen enough
until my breath catches in my throat like water
being sucked down a drain.


  1. I liked the yard sales. When we lived in Colorado for a short time, we bought almost everything we needed on yard sales. And sold it all on yard sale before we moved back to Winterland. It's a convenient way to circulate cheap old crap, and even some little treasures from time to time >:)