She said the door was open, much like it was 14 years ago when we trespassed for the very first time. Inside, among the rotted wood, and other debris, she found a ring our mother made in college and a note written in her handwriting shoved between two wooden planks in the unfinished bathroom that she once used to store office records. I have to witness this, I think, so I go back four days later… eager to discover more. The door opens only a bit, enough for me to smell decay – decades worth -- but not enough to allow me to enter. I walk back to my car and hear the sound of children on the street. Two houses over (where I used to play as a child) there is a yard sale taking place. They’re moving. It’s May all over again. Today I see a few items for sale from our first home -- the home that was in foreclosure, the home where mold & busted pipes inhabit, where emotions once ran high, the abandoned home -- buried beneath newer possessions. Picture frames with sun-stained wood and chipped glass; Hallmark plaques with faded words…
These items are all labeled: “$1.00”
HVWP COMMONPLACE 50
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