LIFE, IN BOXES
A thousand books, at least as many DVDs:
Once they stretched along the shelves, wall to wall and floor to ceiling.
Vintage cameras, a collection painstakingly assembled since childhood:
All neatly lined up behind glass.
Sketchbooks and photographs too many to number,
Letters written and never sent…and now will never be.
Memories of what once was, a life packed away in boxes,
Waiting for the day I can breathe again.
Sometimes, the Flower of the Day can speak just as much as the words that come out of our lips or from our pens. I’m still working the maudlin out of my system and probably will be for the next few days, but I can find a certain humor now in these words as I pack up yet another studio–my own, this time–knowing that there’s an end in sight. It’s so … different, from the madness of executing a final testament I can almost laugh. I still have to avoid looking at his folios though, most of the time; as executors of the estate we have the right to release his work to the public, but I’m not ready for that. Not yet …