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.
Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019
Available internationally
I love this. ❤
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Thank you ☺️
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What an interesting piece! The images are compelling!
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Thank you!
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