all is vanity my friend

a row of terracotta pots

unwatered

no longer tended

dry wisps curling in their bare earth

the gardener has gone on

become compost himself

this negation of dust to death

he created cared & shared

remains, to be taken to the dump

as grandma’s artifacts

gifted to the thrift store

those christmas plates

given every year

the china dollies ghastly

& ghostly in their white face

a small selection of cardigans

faded flannel frocks frowsty & fringed

all gone to the great beyond

& all we have is our vanity

to bolster that unceasing tide

that will always come

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