the new order

I am a magpie.

My fleshy nest is feathered in flotsam.

Not a hoarder, but rather, a hunter, gatherer

of thoughts, scavenger of curios and the curious.

Like Mary Kate Danaher,

I must have my things about me,

until the fate of the new familial order

ascends with flourish; mutiny, without asking.

The manor, ready for auction, is shiny,

stripped and greased, for meticulous scrutiny.

The coronation flask, the one with the crown

and manacled G and E, is taken down, emptied

of pencils, writing, and worth, and marked,

so appropriately, “Goodwill”.

I, too, am carefully wrapped, boxed,

and labeled “assorted secrets and stories”,

a discreetly forgotten casket, stowed

dowerless, in a thrift store of dirt.

willow, 2010

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