Do not keep the herringbone wool, the upright
Hoover or the red galoshes. Never mind

that the wooden wagon of colored blocks still
sparks joy. Go ahead and throw them out.

Pile the coats on the bed as if Thanksgiving dinner
was winding down in the next room and feel free

to sleep on the fox stole as if there was no
judgement in the sad taxidermy of its working jaw.

Make a tally sheet of what to keep
and what to donate to memory.

Your grandmother will help you reclaim
the silver salt cellars and heirloom grief.

Discard that naked babydoll who wets, the broken
cameras and dust. Try to remember that jigsaws

divided into a mismatch of boxes may not be
any kind of useful metaphor, but the Ouiji board

shoved under an embroidered tablecloth and missing
its felt-footed planchette very possibly is.

Image credit:Amy G

Sara Clancy is a Philadelphia transplant to the Southwest.  Her chapbook Ghost Logic won the 2017 Turtle Island Quarterly Editors Choice Award. Among other places, her poems have appeared in Off the Coast, The Linnet's Wings, Crab Creek Review, The Madison Review, Misfit Magazine, Avatar Review and Verse Wisconsin. She lives in the desert with her husband, their dog, two ordinary cats and a psychotic cross-eyed one.