Already our home is a museum of cast-aways
and redundancies too precious for Goodwill.
Take the white Staffordshire dogs she says,
so we do.
Or the Grosz ink drawing,
legless specter on her bedroom wall.
I don’t even know it’s there,
so we bring it home too.
What do I need them for? she asks
about etched water glasses and
ornate covered serving dishes
before they migrate to my buffet
giving her cabinets room
to breath.
But today when she says
Buy something that will remind you of me
I sense she has transcended,
from unburdening and bequeathing
to the realm of anticipation
where the purpose is to clear
a space in my heart
a waiting room ready
for my grief
when she is gone.
The Avenue Issue VIII,
Anticipation, 2023
Elise Chadwick 