The attic, the closet, the chest of drawers,
The chest of hope, life’s things are stored
There alone. All by myself
I was placed on Mary’s shelf.
The attic holding yesteryear of baby clothes
And gifts held dear
From the closet remembrance springs
School day joys — romantic flings
The chest of drawers with treasured things —
The box of letters, once-worn rings
Within the chest of hope there lies
Future dreams — divine surprise
There alone all by myself
I sat misplaced on Mary’s shelf.
On occasion — her chartless days —
She’d sit alone in far-off gaze
Lost within some thought gone free
Like landlocked sailors might think of sea
There alone all by myself
I sat and watched from Mary’s shelf.
The attic, the closet, the chest of drawers
The chest of hope — life’s things were stored.
They’re empty now — just like myself,
Left alone on Mary’s shelf.
Yet through her window,
Past her hill,
Down the path
And further still
Remembering her brings
Like wood to mill
Death of a tree — but a beam to build.
Lenny Hall is a student and observer of life without formal credentials who finds inspiration on Martha’s Vineyard.
