| Yesterday alone I laid everything out on the carpet
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| Books, kitchen things, objects with specific purpose or none
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| Arranged them sideways in a grid on the floor there unmoored
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| Out of context and then considered it
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| First the whole picture, then everything individually
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| Humming along at the deadest pace imaginable
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| One object then another and then the next
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| And I wondered what they meant there
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| If they meant anything still
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| Found notes
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| Camping supplies
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| A book you bought in the desert
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| «Identifying Wildflowers»
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| Pictures from vacations
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| From parties
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| Kitschy gifts we bought from rest stops
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| On that road trip out West
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| Objects
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| Everything itself
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| And then memory
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| All of it laid out there
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| From the dining room
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| The living room
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| The hallway and the basement and the kitchen
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| From that room we called the office
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| But never used
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| Even the bathroom
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| Everything laid out there on the floor on the carpet out of context
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| And I sat there for hours
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| Today I moved everything from the floor to the table in the dining room
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| Placed each thing carefully without reason or at least without one I understood
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| or could describe
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| There on the table together and when I was done and stepped back I realized
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| what I had made
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| Keepsakes
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| Pictures
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| Letters
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| Ordinary objects all collected there
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| A memorial
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| And I thought of ones on highways or set by gravestones
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| All the things you see there but don’t understand but still bring a remembered
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| thing back vividly
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| Invoke someone’s reality when there together in that place in that way out of
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| context
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| And I knew I had to take it down before anybody else saw
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| Tomorrow I plan to put them all somewhere
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| Those things
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| In boxes
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| Side of the road
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| Attic maybe
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| All these things that push and pull me through history
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| To places I once was, places I might’ve gone, places I ended up going
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| Postcards
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| Ticket stubs from one thing or another
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| A personalized coffee mug neither your name nor mine
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| Phone cards and old phones
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| A page from an old calendar I bought once at a thrift store and insisted on
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| hanging
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| That cycles of the moon print
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| Photos
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| Old boots of mine
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| Put them in boxes
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| And I sat there for hours
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| In the living room first
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| Then in the dining room
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| Moving things around
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| Picking things up and seeing where they took me
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| To what place in history
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| What moment on our timeline
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| Where we were, where I was, where I thought we’d end up
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| In this house or on the highway
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| Driving somewhere near Christmas
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| In the desert or anywhere else
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| And I put them in boxes |