Floating shelves
boarded with books,
peacock feathers,
and empty peach teas.
My bookcase is hoarding memories.
On the topmost stack,
a salt lamp to ward off melancholy.
Below,
crumpled clothes
smelling of past ghosts,
a tangle of fish hook bows,
and three abandoned earrings.
This is not a tidy place.
A Parisian painting winks
beside a brass antique
mirror, prone to squeaking.
My novel,
may it rest in peace,
buried on the bottom shelf
for safe-keeping.
A vertical treasure chest
rests beside the vessel
I board nightly for dreaming.
When I’m done with my sailing,
what grave goods
will be exhumed
from my bedroom?
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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