Inheritance

Turmoil of mold. 
Of cans rusted open, 	                seeping rot
		      stuck to dust-covered particleboard.
Of jars inhabited by peaches and berries
		      turned mud in their quiet aquariums.
Of peppers and beans gone limp	    wan 
				                 fragmented anatomy.
A vase 		            of turquoise cat’s eyes 
				                 kept fresh.
	Finding her wits.
I chuck them into a trailer
and haul everything to a landfill.

What ever happened to her marbles
and the beautiful vase she kept them in?
But not even the pantry is preserved.
		       Walls demolished
			            rooms reappropriated
	    her corpse sealed beneath the earth.
Is there any question I cannot outlast?
I stuff myself in a jar 
			            and fill it with salt.

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BRIGGS HELTON is an attorney and a native of Washington currently living in South Georgia with his wife and son. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Colorado Review, Clade Song, Inscape, and elsewhere.

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