Used to be I read the news
—paper spread across the kitchen
table
folded down to a manageable size
to make room for possibilities
and a cup of coffee with whoever
rolled out of bed to join me
folding histories to handle tragedy
yet get on with the day
taking surreptitious pleasure
in avoiding a glamourous life
flipping through pages of car
adverts
sports statistics and the stock
market
as if rambunctious numbers, horse
power
and wheels formed a mysterious
gruff world
for data-armed men whiskered and
clean shaven
who later posed weaponless in
marriage and birth
announcements, then, at the end the
obituaries
of all the beloveds, pages and
pages of peaceful
people whose demise spawned
mourners
to consider the person, not their
things.
None of the obituaries read, “So-and-so
died surrounded by countless
belongings
of which survivors must now
rid themselves as their own possessions
are jealous gods.”
Illustration:
'At Breakfast' (1898) by Laurits Andersen Ring;
National Museum, Stockholm (public domain)
