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Opening, assessing; sorting, resorting.
Each item bringing a fond memory
before eventually returned to its corner.
How many years will I continue this ritual,
shifting the same things back and forth?

But who’s to say what is a treasure?
The antique toys I open once a year to clean,
the knick-knacks and buttons my grandmother gave me;
bedspreads and matching decor I can’t seem to part with,
or luggage that’s seen better miles.

I had it all figured out, I thought. That was until…
I went to give something away and found
a tag tucked inside, a reminder of the thoughtful giver.
Neatly lettered, “To Mom & Dad, With Love, 1992.”
Now how can I possibly part with anything!

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