My hands ****** deep into my pockets, searching for reconciliation; every rummage a sacred act. I’m reaching for emotional growth; but just pulling out splinters, plectrums and bits of fluff. The keys have to be in here somewhere.
Early morning, they scuttle around, looking for some junk that no one has yet found. Look another bright orange sign, slam on the brakes maybe we will make it on time. Read the sign. Follow endless arrows. Some little punk changed the direction of these arrows. We drove for an hour, Grandmother said keep going, we will find it, I know it has great offerings. Tireless efforts the sun has now set. Grandmother was determined to still find this treasure nest. As annoyed as I was, I would give her the endless days of driving around looking for those junk sale signs, if I could have just one more day. Now she rides above me as I wander from sale to sale. Stopping only at the ones I know she would have wanted to. I silently shop through others junk. Talking to her about each item I rummage through thinking of her. My garage is full of boxes of other peoples stuff as I keep on buying all the junk you thought was just. I learned much from you. Making money on this stuff. I love you dearly Grandmother for the lessons you taught. Nashoba copyrighted 2017