We Sat Waiting

Evan Pollitt

April 2019

We sat waiting,

nothing to be done at this point.

Sunlight casts a mosaic,

through the solitary window.

The room feels colder in contrast.

The room held an entire life,

and then just things.

A chair, green by design,

or by accumulation,

now bears the collected nicotine of time.

 

Kindred remember in a time such as this.

A room full of so many,

stories and moments

and a shared history of things.

Material attachment salves,

And conceals.

Shapes and items,

Stamped out in relief

Against a settling remnant.

 

Pictures and precious stones,

slide and clang on the hardwood.

Cast and made valuable in time.

Fingers scurry, squeak, and squawk,

new owners searching,

scrabbling and taking.

Meaning and cost intertwined,

with no clear distinction.

 

Tall wrapping wings,

chipped, tarnished, and dinged,

suffering exposure.

Memories tightly packed in a family plot.

Tears caught in the fibers,

of candy and stories.

Nothing a clever pillow can’t hide.

Sentiment obscured and overshadowed,

by glitter,

by distance,

by timeless beauty,

by the things that remain.

Artwork: Van Gough, The Bedroom 1889