Wicker baskets 
filled with aged potpourri 
faired in smelling 
but no longer swift, 
cloaked in greyed dust 
from fan blades 
calling to nose-irritating cotton candy 
created in circles above; 
the baskets with loosening skeleton, 
a misshaped oval, 
and misplaced home decoration 
from a decade prior 
compass the room 
in different spots 
regardless if the kids are home 
or if the father has passed, 
somehow the wicker basket 
remains steady as a rock, 
weighing down the interior. 


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