Jeffrey Hannah

Four houses down from me an Estate Sale begins.
I watch through my window the pickups line up curbside, and
strangers entering what was once a home. A lamp, a couch, appliances…
Truck beds being filled and harnessed down with bungie.
The closing sound of rusted tailgates.

Only days ago was that house haunted with the living.
I didn’t know him. I didn’t know his loves or displeasures.
But I do know there were days I passed, walking the dog,
and saw him perhaps working in the yard or maybe even
carrying in some of the things that have now been auctioned.

So for the experience, I go and pose as if I was in the market.
A blonde woman, professionally dressed, answers a collector’s
question on the age of a grandfather clock. Strangers, uninvited,
moving methodically throughout a house not their own
telling themselves things they want to hear.

Issue 10, 2018, pg. 70