Slats of Light

Here is the place I sit
smelling of age and wondering
what I should pick up first

The movers are outside
to take me away, but I left
a long time ago, and just
remained here

Grandmother made me
this fringed blanket and I
watched it fray over the years
along with my mind

When they open the door, I
will escape down the stairs
I know better than they do,
and I will join this light that

Invades my small resting place.