The Collector

People wish to be settled; only as far as they are unsettled is there any hope for them. - Emerson

Think of it as a gradual gathering
first placing objects more gilded than grey.
The soft shelving of the delicate and crystalline,
thin talismans, scalloped shells that hold the
whole whispering cantorate of the sea.

Now, add leaden questions and touchable mystery
heirlooms, hand-me-down hang-ups, mercury glass with fat gloss,
God things that come from as far away as conscience.
Bookend with pickles and ordinary paradox,
dumped on your shelf of holy huh.

What were we attempting, exactly, with one simple structure
that could bear the weight of all these curios
without so much as a buckle?
To think you could contain a garage sale of doubts
on this piney thing!

A choice—settle, watch the dust settle,
or stack your bruised dogmas bald riddles grudges groans
up high and look—a stair!
Does the project demand balance, or to cede to the magic of movement,
a doggedness that keeps asking for directions?

We’re collectors first.
Carpenters all.
Turn your breaking shelf into a ladder
and climb like hell
toward heaven.

Adrienne Cardon is a poet and author of And Still, Birth: Death and New Life in a Pandemic. Off-duty, she enjoys skiing, karaoke, collecting fancy olive oils, and is trying to cross off all the National Parks from her bucket list.