Dead Mother's Place

Dead Mother's Place

They sold everything in their mother’s summer

Place to me.

I bought everything in their dead mother’s

Summer place.

They were “glad to be rid of it” they said

When I paid them.

The oriental rugs on the boathouse floor.

The oil paintings hanging in the horse stalls in

The barn.

A broken Tiffany floor lamp

In the upstairs’ hall closest.

“You can see all the islands from here.”

“My mother kept it that way.”

“That was her desk over there.”

“This is where the servants lived.”

Most of the silver was taken in the robbery

Except for the dinner soon lying between

The granite stones of the front steps.

I took that for my collection.

Several family members wanted

The painting

Of the ship at sea

In the storm.

They “didn’t want the memories”

In boxes stacked behind, before

 Down under

And up above – in the back.

  

They screeched when the

Bats flew in the attic

The water had been turned off

So no one could wash their hands.

“Can you?”

“How soon?”

And “All of it?”

“You want all of it?”

“So much of it is trash.”

“Our plane is on Friday morning.”

“My sister doesn’t want that

after all.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t

Show too much interest,

But I did bring three trucks

For the first three loads.

They wanted to help

But got tired and dirty

And hungry and hot

And Itchy and stabbed through

By the

Ghost bitch devil

Scratching and clawing

In their brains.

“Feel guilty.” They said

And wanted to

Wash their hands

And “be rid of it”.