We find ourselves
In the basement of the goodwill store
It is musty
Tiny flashes of dust bounce off
The carpet
Like rust
It catches us
In the back of our throats
Makes us cough
And splutter
The curtains are thin
Alice draws them open
It reveals a brick wall
Thick and sturdy
We hate not seeing light
Perhaps we will
Pick through the garbage forever
It glitters and shines
Old treasures
Waiting to be found
Stories waiting to be retold
What was given
What was lost
What was taken after
Books
Clothes
Toys
An old bicycle
Once they were prized
Now they are fading
Perhaps by touching them
We will make them real again
So many beautiful things
In the basement of the goodwill store.
