Bric-a-brac tumbled,

jumbled, across the shelves,

scattered in dusty glass cases:

broaches, pins, postcards

and teacups, shoes,

letter openers and model trains,

infested with age,

idleness and the odd

ear wig, next to the closet

of death – an under the stairs

space with screaming stags

and boars pinned to the walls;

too many squirrels to count

caught in fatal surprise

and a tower of owls

whose eyes wish to be forgotten

instead of stuffed, encased

in dust and the mundane

passing of time, looking out

the window inside

at the polished glasses – sherry

and wine, glistening with more

life than their painted irises

and the wild rigor in their re-sewn limbs.

This place revels in the death

of things – abandonment

and negligence – a shelter

for the homeless,

unloved and discarded.

 

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Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally