Once again we've checked one out,
Estate Sale half a block away this time,
moving closer like a storm.
Ghosts are in those rooms of bright rhinestone-
bedizened slippers, little cedar heart-
shaped boxes, a pair of crutches
leaning in the corner, enough hot
water bottles to know she hurt,
and her gowns and old furs
going from seven to eleven. We walk
quickly home and throw out more,
resolve to leave them nothing, nothing.
David Ray, Music of Time: Selected & New Poems,
The Backwaters Press, 2006.