Moving Aftershocks

Begins with chip
on squared corner
of television table.
Next, we discover
top of bookcase
has vanished,
leaving naked slats
of wood laddered
over double glass
doors of mahogany 
frame.  Bottom door
gapes open like
a toothless jack-o-
lantern. Crooked
face of grandfather
clock dangles in peril,
its housing and pendulum
missing along with pulleys.
In oblong office desk,
drawers slide out
at will like a magic
box. Push one in,
the other pops
out. Back covering
of desk stands
against wall, solo.
Inside a red frame,
broken bits of mirror
shiver, waiting
for removal.

Two teams of movers;
no one can be blamed.
Shame to have your
belongings taken
or in tatters, but
what matters is
that we remain whole.
Worse catastrophes
happen around the globe
every day.  At least we
can say, we are not
homeless.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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2 Responses to Moving Aftershocks

  1. trentpmcd says:

    I’ve read that two moves equals one fire…

    Like

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