The Attic

Chasing my youth around

Scratching off the tarnish

Gluing every itty bitty chip in place

I still see the almost-not-there cracks

Maybe others will be too busy to notice?

Too absorbed in masquerading their own

Pulling out of the attic closet

All the things, the beautiful fabrics

From those days of celebration and late hours

I can still smell the stale tobacco

The vanilla of a perfume I no longer buy

Holding it on my lap makes me sink away

Falling into thoughts I only remember

In this attic of roof-nail stains and proliferating spiders

My eight-legged friends just enjoying the chance

To be undisturbed and sheltered

Now feign death with a stillness they can keep up for hours

Fully aware that it always takes me awhile

        ~K.A. Pitman