Hoarders lived in my grandparent’s house.
Piles of papers and magazines turned loose
Paths to each room seemed to rouse
No other way but the one I must choose.
What memories may be held in the muck,
In salvage or garbage they may mistook
For something once useful, now laid to rest
In the stockpile that gathered in that cluttered nest.
Depression era values took and held fast
In which no tidbit of information lost
But no computer or scanner kept alive
To share these tidbits on a hard drive.
©2017 Valerie Hathaway