October Letter

by Jeff Oaks

What’s it like to have no more

things now           no anxiety to dust

no furniture to rearrange a mood 

no doors to worry         no carpets to make

straight       vacuum again     no sleepless window

to look at the dark through        no remote

to find        no glasses        no more tv

or jigsaw puzzles or sudoku or chocolate muffins
where is memory then and how       now

we who watched you carried out and signed 

the contract to turn you into grit        we who sold

the place and killed the cat      who boxed up

what we wanted to keep         where are we among   

no bright leaves to kick        no empty thistles pick