Silt.(Poem)

 
SILT 
for Dorothy Johnston 
 
   How the old house silts up--with 
   records and tapes unplayed, 
   with poetry, yellowed, unread 
   and guitar strings broken and limp. 
   Faded hats from our salad days 
   match dresses too small at the waist. 
   We have saved too zealously: 
   too many ends of wool, 
   unattached buttons and zips. 
   Mementoes fade when bereft 
   of the men who brought them back 
   and letters from lovers we've lost 
   are nibbled by silverfish. 
   In the light of a later day 
   strangers may laugh at our photos, 
   the diary confessions we ...