Public Poetry. Yesteryear.

What treasures rest within the lofty room above my bed? 
Vintage clothing? Grandpa’s steamer trunk?
An old-fashioned baby crib? I wonder…

I slip the bolt to peek inside…
dust motes mingle with red gold sunlight
casting bronze patina on a cache of memories,
footprints of passage.

A tri-mirror vanity dominates the room
reflecting sepia images of an infant’s cradle
an oak valet draped in lacy cobwebs
a high back rocker trimmed in a powdered haze.
I am charmed with their antique beauty.

While I gaze upon the past faint scents of lilac and magnolia
drift throughout the room…
visages cavort through time blending bygone days with
vestiges in the dust.
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