sometimes, the heart rattles
a bit like a glass curio
cabinet—clink and tink and clatter—
from feet jarring uneven
warped floorboards
yet, the Glassmith crafted it
well, this asymmetrical shell,
cleansed in flame, glistening finials
crowning chambers—sanctuaries—
from crystalline cross
the…(this)…heart breaks but never
shatters into shards; it’s cleaved
to crimson velvet—too too solid flesh—;
crackling across tempered glass,
as if by design; exquisite
delicate trinkets displayed
under glass—on glass in glass—melding
into kaleidoscopic pictures that blur
one memory into another
as the heart turns…is turned…
when all is still—breath bearing
the only sound—shapes of memories;
a bud vase, silly snowmen,
a basket, holly teacups near
stained glass angels
My mother had a curio cabinet filled with knick-knacks from decades of collecting. I took it for granted. It became a bit of a good-natured joke, even for her. Yet, she had a story – a memory – for every single one of them, none of which I can remember. I took it for granted. What I do remember is her love for them, and for her curio cabinet, that held so many things that delighted her, in the dining room of the last place on earth she’d call home.
Maybe you have a curio cabinet, or your parents or grandparents did. The concept has an interesting history – even full rooms filled with what some might consider morbid or odd. But that was the point. Curio/curious/curiosities. Cabinet of curiosities. Over the years, the curio cabinet evolved into something a bit more light-hearted, holding things for remembrance or simply because they’re beautiful…or cute.
Some things we remember and some things we don’t – but we keep them. At one time, that thing of glass, metal, stone, wood – that unicorn, seashell, or praying child – whether it melted your heart, stung it a bit, or made it sing – it charmed you…or it charmed someone you love, which perhaps made it even more special.
And so it goes with the heart…cabinet of curiosities…from morbid to sweet. For the poem, I chose to focus more on the sweet side, in honor of my mother. She would not have wanted to read a poem about a curio cabinet full of the darker side.
a tilting of air 