The Old Things Poem by Carolyn Brunelle

An ancient jewelry box
Powders and perfumes
In pretty bottles,
One of the first doilies
She made as a girl
Spread over the dresser,
Favorite house slippers
Rest by the bed;
Her rumpled stockings
Still neatly tucked into them.
What remains of a life...
Her fragrance lingering in the room,
Her face held forever young
Next to the love of her life
In the portrait on the wall,
And me,
Left to mourn her.