My parents were
bitten by the collecting bug.
Searching for the
next thrilling treasure.
Most with musty
smells and sticking drawers...
But I could tell it gave
them pleasure.
They never had an old
crank phonograph,
But an out of tune
piano sat in a room.
I would bang the keys
on that old thing…
Until the spirits
were freed from its tomb.
There was a strange
framed print of a girl,
With a wreath of
flowers above her head.
It hung on the wall
at the end of the hall…
Thank goodness it
didn’t hang over my bed.
A grand chandelier
cleaned and rewired,
Hung with pride from the
living room ceiling.
After weeks of eerie flickering
at night…
Taking it down was a
mutual feeling.
I miss my parents and
their antique quest.
I think I’ll go find
an aisle to rummage through.
Let memories of
yesterday flood my heart…
And find a vintage piece painted
robin egg blue.
When I was a child my parents collected and refurbished,
antiques for many years. This photo brought back so many
memories.
Thanks for the prompt, Carrie.
For “The Sunday Muse” and “Poets United”.
Photo: Pexels/Skitterphoto