Inspired by morning coffee with a friend:
Boxing up mother’s life for an estate sale,
he wondered if all the perfume and cologne still smelled cheap
He wondered, if there was a way to save
unburned candles from the glass votive series
that lined a shelf behind her chair.
He remembered, she used to tell him
that someday, when she is gone,
they would be worth a small fortune
and he could spend it on the grandkids.
He gently placed each piece
in shipping boxes from U-Haul
and stacked them under a sign
Avon Collectibles – Five Dollars a Box.
That night, he dreamed of a prehistoric man
wrapping clay figurines in animal furs
to bury In a dark corner of a cave with his prehistoric mom
and hoped he would be the one to discover them
under fifty thousand years of guano
his name a footnote in middle school textbooks.
4-2-24
My husband's poetry 
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