Getting rid of things

The design shop owner talked on her phone to a friend,

a big brown box of Grandma’s china sat on the counter,

an arc of my covenant, an opening in top where the

word could get out, but not this day.


Yes, she would see her friend soon, the owner said.

She walked around a table in burnt umber and talked

and gazed to the sun and mouthed words

and I faded. Could I give this up?


These willows and peacock hovering in

blue jasmine on bone white? Came out on holidays

and we saw them and admired them and Grandma

ran her hand across them and gazed into our past.


Grandma always said it was Blue Willow,

a special kind of plate with a special pattern with a

special kind of value, too. Did she know the difference?

The woman and others, too, shook their heads.


My throwing-out period began a few weeks before,

and I went to a shop and a crusted old man

with skin bone white and dirt patina

said he would give me $20 for it all.


What? I should just give away my arc?

Yeah, I know it’s not Blue Willow and, yeah,

I know the market has gone to hell

in a brown box, but for that? Just that? I went away.


I waited for the woman. When she put down her

phone, she said, yeah, not so much.

And I went back to the dirt man and

he was closed. For the day.


Sun came up warm now with a promise of even

warmer as April dawned. “When does he open?”

meaning that day, I asked.

“Come back tomorrow morning.” a man said.




About cwanager77

Hi, I'm Chuck, and I'm the author of "Jackson Flats," which you can find on and Kindle books. My Web page is The novel's packed with humor and is a fast read. I also like to travel. I'm especially happy when I can do both and tell others about my experiences. I write about my travel over the globe and close to home. With my posts, you read not only about my travels but about ways to travel lightly and cheaply, and where to stay for less. Travel the world close to home and far away with my posts.
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