All the Stuff

I look around at all the stuff 

I’ve purchased or created

To fill my home; it’s quite enough

That I’ve accumulated.

My husband lets my choices rule,

Especially my quilt work,

For he would have to be a fool

To share if some critiques lurk.

I never used to think about

Where all of it will go when

I’m gone, because, without a doubt,

There’s no way I will know then.

My children will not give a hoot

About my works of stitching.

My efforts they will not dispute,

Though that won’t stop them ditching

The pillows, hangings, tchotchkes, art,

Plus photo books and keepsakes;

All these tucked inside my heart

Will win the dumpster sweepstakes.

Since I will not observe it, there

Will be no tears or clashes,

But in my mind, it isn’t fair

To turn my stuff to ashes.