Missing by Pat Garcia
Some things get lost.
Some simply misplaced.
Some disappear into thin air,
Only to reappear at the yard sale,
Where items collected have been brought,
And the number of years,
Spent in one city,
Become a fading nostalgic memory of what used to be.
Missing objects sometimes suddenly reappear,
As the last breath of a life reigns us in.
Making us see the futility of our hoarding,
Our grasping for what we cannot take with us.
Missing objects cry out,
Lost but now found,
And take center stage at the yard sale.
They move into the house of another,
Or land on a huge pile at the waste disposal,
Waiting for the grinder, as we wait for the reaper.
Wishing everyone a nice weekend.