The Lives of Furniture VI: The Desk

when she was a little girl,
she curled up in a chair pulled up close to me,
with her markers and construction paper,
her wax sticks and stamp with
the letter “K” engraved on it.
in high school, I held her books
and papers, open, undone,
when she finally collapsed
into dreamless slumber.
I was so happy to store all her
treasures while she was away
seeing friends, riding her pink bicycle,
growing up...:
the small stainless steel can full
of pens, a stack of small notebooks
from each class, The Sun magazines
a stack of at least fifty CDs burned from
friends’ music collection.
She grew up. Nothing to do but sit
in a corner of a room watching the
sun come up and go down.
Such a terrible thing to feel useless.
.
(NOTE: The desk moved down the street tonight to a new home
where it will feel much more fulfilled.)