The Power of Things
My father liked to visit flea markets and junk shops.
On Saturday mornings he would leave in his best white shirt,
his pockets full of coins.
“See what I found today!” he would proudly say.
Sometimes it was hard to tell what the thing was
or why my father decided to buy it.
From time to time, he took me to his expeditions.
We would visit a DIY shop
and spend all day buying nails and bolts.
He would bribe me with jewellery and ice cream.
He had boxes full of trinkets which waited to be repurposed.
You never knew when the right type of bolt could save the day.
He rummaged through people’s back yards and attics.
“Do you need this?” he would ask.
He brought home old mirrors,
gas lamps and maps.
Sometimes he searched our own cupboards
and found things long forgotten.
“Look what I found”, he would say.
He tinkered with everything.
He transformed old junk into something new.
Something that no one else had.
Once he built me a tent in the back yard.
My nightstand was painted bright green.
I wished for things, and they would appear.
I wished for things to be different, and they would change.
Sadly, I am not so good with my hands,
but I still believe in the power of things to regenerate
and turn themselves into something beautiful.
Just like my father,
I find it hard to throw anything away.
Who knows when a button or a bead might be needed to save the day?
<3 Much love for you and him and this poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Manja <3
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