pot bellied stove

she started out quite unassuming
with sheets, clothes, pillows, and the like.
but as time passed she grew more comfortable
with me, with us, and so she unloaded.
the rocking chair i adore;
so much character and love worn into the soft
wooden arms and seat, the smooth buttery
wood that holds memories on laps of laughs.
then came the desk, tiny and tight and full of surprises.
small cubbies in which to keep my knick-knacks and
stationary, my little projects and papers.
stripping it bare of the thick coats of bright paint
i can see it still sitting in my home when i'm old,
opening it's lid at the whim of my wrinkled hands.
and next the decorations. supplies for every occasion;
christmas, easter, 4th of july, halloween, thanksgiving,
birthdays, and graduations. flags and candles,
heirlooms, trinkets and tins for every event and some for naught,
all in boxes and bags stored in closets and under the bed
waiting with anticipation for the right moment to emerge
again and adorn the normal with hints of celebration.
and now, rumors of a pot bellied stove.
another treasure will find it's resting place
beneath my roof. it will witness this uncompromising
roller coaster along side my love and i.
it will remember the past and watch with pregnant heart
as we fill up and float away, still sitting there in it's cast iron shell.
i do not mind. bring them all to find a place within the
warmth of these four walls that make my home.
let them sit or lay as they please, and they will speak to us
as old friends do, long gone, through images and flashes
of memories so bright and yet so faded. and within our daily
exchanges we will make new ones. i do not mind, for they
come from love, and into love they shall pass.