Wicker baskets
filled with aged potpourri
faint in smell
and 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 aged home decoration
from a decade prior
compass the room
in different spots,
regardless of the children’s absence
or father passed,
vacation, or home-time holidays;
somehow the wicker basket
remains steady as a rock,
weighing down the interior.
Advertisements
