Treasures

At the end
of the second floor hall
was a step (up) and
door leading to the third floor

Among
the small spaces
created by the eaves I
could hide and feel snug
except Just before Christmas
when it was off limits

Straight ahead
the attic peak held
a random assortment of
boxes, suitcases, furniture
and other remnants of
lives from long before I was born

Mostly
I was attracted to
an old leather trunk
stuffed with vests
trousers and red felt leggings
a whimsical buttercup outfit
costume jewelry and
Indian princess attire
gloves as long as my arms
and exotic gowns – open
the lid and I could become anything!

To the left was
my brothers’ train room cum
Kathy the college student’s retreat
later my mother’s winter art studio

The closet
in the room to the right
stored my mother’s furs,
hats, my father’s tuxedo
photographic equipment and
one by one, once worn prom dresses

All is gone and not gone –

New owners
have transformed the house
made it theirs
once light grey clapboards are
now painted a shameless seaside blue

A 1930’s era
white pique sundress
hangs in my daughter’s closet
waiting
for a slower paced
long-ago-feeling summer day
a paint-spattered Block Island easel
rests in the corner

The attic trunk
(leather long gone) stands
sentry at the foot of her brother’s bed
now filled with remnants
from a newer generation

What remains of the old contents
lie tucked away in a modern
moving and storage box

We carry the past
into the present, shed
parts that no longer fit
treasure what speaks to us

In the process
the once important
sometimes changes place with
what before seemed mundane.