In my thrift store
psyche
the ghost of you sits
in a ring of dust
on a table not quite
antique.
I keep check on it
every now and then,
making sure you
haven’t reappeared
midst blue and gold
gilded vases,
LP’s with faded
jackets,
and hand-me-downs.
New stuff gets added
daily, weekly,
monthly. . .
and some things find
other homes, too—
like you.
One day I’ll dust,
after the clutter
clears,
and then
even your memory
will be gone too.
Until I find another
thing
that reminds me of
you.
© 2014 Jennifer
Wagner