Life Becomes Inventory

Before bones grow cold
the greedy garage sales a life
into bins marked, “Priced to Sell.”

Memories ghost photographs,
wrap Paris in broken pearls,
and scent love letters bleeding
from a heart shaped box.

History crumbles into a burden.
Verbal stories no longer have a home
only the mold of forgotten murmuring
among stitches of a tattered quilt.

A corpse has a price, her clothing a steal.
Life becomes inventory as soon as
an obituary advertises a sale.