Our Stuff

Baubles in a drawer
Trinkets on shelves
Furniture in the attic…

Accumulations of many generations,
Covered with dust,
What do they mean?
Why do we find it hard to let go of our things?

Maybe they act as our barometer…

Of what we gave,
of what we kept,
of who we saved
and how we’ve wept

Of who we thought we’d become
and who we actually became,
Of the wonders we saw then
and the reality we see now…

Our stuff is OUR stuff
and ours