The Attic

The dusty cobwebs drape
like tattered strips of dirty lace
across the tiny window
in the dark and gloomy space
behind the boxes that are stacked
in disarray,
long forgotten memories
tied with twine and packed away.

The cobweb-filtered light 
seems brown with age
and drips in scattered hues
across a weathered page
that tells a life
in souvenirs and words,
whispered voices written long ago
and never heard. 


december 2003
© Janet Reid