We empty out a magic house.

There is too much. Sometimes, I think the end is coming.

We give away thousands of books. I have no judgment.

I remember ones I want to keep and I see them and there they go. There they go.

But what am I to do? Where do things belong? Where can we put them?

We give them away. Carload upon carload.

Books and things, books and things. They pass through our hands. Out the door.

Some things have been packed and saved for 40 years.

My mother remembers us, little. I think she sees us in the toys.

When we look at toys together, I become little and I feel her love surround me.

Little toys. Simple toys. Little children. Simple children.

Things with possibility. And infinite future.

Objects with potential.

If I could be anyone, I would be my mother’s child.

 

 

*    *    *

 

 

A box of colored blocks is stopped on its way out the door.

 

 

 

 

Two small children, new small hands, make new forms.

 

 

 

 

They build a rainbow pathway for themselves. A rainbow bridge.

 

 

 

 

I think it is having children that helps me let things go.

 

 

 

 

There is nothing else so magic. No object so magic as these.

 

 

 

 

Let them not pass through my hands.

Let me hold them forever.