Memory Graveyards

“Junk Shop” the sign reads

He moves up to the entrance

Smiling at the tinkle bell above the door as he enters

Smells the musty surroundings

Peers through the dust floating beneath the overhead fluorescents

Listens to the overlapping ticking

So many clocks vying for attention

Hanger racks sag with old clothes weight

He wanders to the old paperbacks

Mixed with worn hardcovers

Comic books shuffled between old photographs

He stops

Circling the table

He stops again

Askew is an open 1941 yearbook

He fingers through the captured images

Think I was that circled kid with the guileless face

In the senior class picture

More stacks of yellowed black and white pictures catch his eye

A man in suspenders with mouthful of pins

Kneeling before a tall stately headless mannequin

Fitting a wedding dress

Yes…

He smiles

She was something.

His fingers hold firm the wedding-dress picture

Muttering “Why should memories end up in a junk shop?”

As closing time chimes from the grandfather clock

Having no use for money

He places the picture back on the table

Feels his way back to the entrance

Floats out the door with the tinkle bell silent behind him

Back into the coming night

Glancing only briefly into the darkening sky

“It was all good… wasn’t it?”