Salvaged

The oldest says Leave everything be, but the others go to search
for what can be spirited out. As their parents huddle
with the estate lawyer in the kitchen, they squeeze past one another
to the front room — all the back ones requiring stepping

at an angle with their gnarled boxes and last century’s papers.
At the end of the hall with the bulb shorted out, the floor
and walls swell to radiance, bright afternoon bathing the items
half-boxed: turntable, medals, china chipped in the case.

It’s a coincidence, this arrangement, the house up a parching slope
built half a century back when the neighborhood settled
where it could — the front door by a planner’s discretion opening
straight to the largest room without a foyer or hat rack —

but today the foundation seems to strain its calves to meet
the rays an instant sooner. The great-aunt has died now,
the great-uncle before her, and with each thing removed,
the room loses more to sunlight. At this time, is there a difference

between theft and assistance? The middle sister claims
the Jolson records, vinyl the rage at school and the covers perfect
for Instagram. The youngest pockets a teacup from the box
marked for storage, her sly gift the saving of a thing for use.

*First published in Angels in Seven (Moon Tide Press, 2016)

Michael Miller is the co-founder of Moon Tide Press, the author of five books of poetry, and a former entertainment and community news journalist for the Los Angeles Times. He currently teaches English and coordinates the visiting-author program at St. Cyril of Jerusalem School in Encino, California. You may read more about him and visit his blog at www.michaelmillerpoet.com.