My Mother’s Yard Sale — A Poem

It’s spring on my side of the world! And the season for yard sales is here. Or is steadily approaching at least. Spring cleaning and purging is underway, and the people in my neighborhood are readying their sidewalk signs and organizing potential sale items into bins and baskets (or so I imagine). I love yard and garage sales… the treasures that can be found amidst the random rubble of years gone by. I love random. And of course, I love a bargain. As well as the feeling of reusing and re-purposing… of giving away and letting go.

What’s the coolest thing you’ve picked up from a yard sale?

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My Mother’s Yard Sale

Laid out on the lawn on folding tables, all no-longer needed items are listed at a fair price. Cotton dresses with faded polka dots hang limply on hangers; the long sleeves of blouses long gone out of style wave in the breeze, sweeping through the neatly organized memories.

Brown boxes with torn corners hold stacks of used books and bent magazines. Mother’s old toaster might be of use to someone who collects simple but respectable antiques from the fifties. Buckets filled with old but sparkling silverware sit and wait, continuously

overlooked by passing faces. Kenny Rogers cassette tapes with scratched off labels border the gray surface of the yard sale tables. Shoes once squashed in the bottom of a box in a basement finally smell the outside air, the pair’s not-as-striking color desperate

to shine one last time in the sun. Wooden picture frames that once held my family’s faces stare at eyes that don’t give them much notice. My mother sits in her folding chair, sipping tea, checking off the number of items she has left to part with. I watch her from inside

the house, through the window, wondering who would possibly want a poster of David Bowie, a poster creased with folding lines. Solid-colored t-shirts flap like flags, calling to neighbors, dog walkers, anyone interested in place mats with a few unnoticeable stains.

Airport — An Abecedariam Poem

Have you ever heard of, written, or read an Abecedariam poem? The Abecedariam is a poetic form in which the initial letter of the first word in each line follows the order of the alphabet. It’s a fun and challenging form in case you wanted to switch things up and take a stab at something different! Try it out and let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy mine below. 🙂

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Airport

Automated sliding doors greet stampedes of people pulling

baggage, pushing strollers, clutching purses filled with books,

candy, pens, mp3 players, anything that will keep them busy

during the duration of their time in the sky. Some are beaming,

excited for the vacations they’ve spent years or months saving up

for. Others drag feet, pat tears, cling to hugs, whisper reluctant

goodbyes. Impatient, wiggly children grip their mother’s or father’s

hands, asking question after unanswered question as the parents

intently watch the airline schedules on large, hanging screens.

Jam-packed check-in lines link people of different tongues. They

keep getting longer as the time ticks on, shortening with the slow,

lazy pace of a caterpillar creeping forward. Airport staff watch the

masses, waiting with tired feet for their shifts to end. Tourists,

newlyweds, businessmen and women—every day different faces

of the same types of travelers. The food court swells with

people chewing overpriced premade sandwiches and pizza slices.

Quenching thirst is not necessary as the overhead announcement

reiterates that flight number this or that is ready to board, ready to

slowly turn the plane’s nose towards the runway. Family members

take turns taking last minute airport pictures, laughing, completely

unaware of a gift or souvenir they forgot to pack. The airport’s

veins are the people that never empty out of its walls, that sit and

wait and watch and stand and cringe when asked to remove shoes.

X-ray vision monitors scan bag after bag while the uniformed staff

yawn in their swivel chairs. Embarrassed by her soiled thongs, a girl

zips up her suitcase after a search as eyes pretend not to notice.