The Weight of the Varnish

The linoleum has kept the secret well,

a deep and circular dent in the floor.

A heavy oak hutch, a polished shell

that stood beside the pantry and the door.

My sister says the estate sale is through

and everything has found a newer hand.

Except for the chair with the foam showing blue

left out on the curb in the sand.

I can still feel the lace on the arm,

a floral pattern that scratched at the wrist.

It kept us away from the edge of the harm,

now it's just garbage the collectors missed.