For Lori

 

My parents’ antique store was a place of mystery,

filled with ancient transients–

though well-groomed–

wearing their past glory and future dreams

in their faded brocade and gleaming wood.

 

My sister and I romped

over scuffed floors,

and behind curio cabinets,

explorers,

curators of treasures—

the chair that was really a throne,

the dragon figures that breathed real fire,

but only if you looked carefully

with a child’s eyes–

we saw wonders–

needing to imagine,

not to possess,

though drawn to surfaces

polished by time,

(the lure of the old)

we rubbed the laughing Buddha’s belly for good luck. . .

 

now, though greying and life-etched,

I can still see the fire-breathing dragon

and the chair-throne–

I tell my sister

and we laugh like the Buddha,

remembering

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Merril D. Smith is a writer, editor, and poet. She has a Ph.D. in American history and is the author/editor of several books of history, gender, and sexuality. She lives in New Jersey, near Philadelphia, with her husband and cats. She shares poetry and random thoughts on her blog. Connect with her on Twitter: @merril_mds