Make room for new. For more.
Threadbare socks–tossed,
unworn blouses—donated,
pants too faded, too tight,
too juvenile, must go
to the dustbin.
But the overcoat, full length,
forest green,long and wool,
warm enough for snow storms
and early Sunday morning
Straßenbahn rides–it must go.
The scent of old town Freiburg
lines its pockets. My coming-of-age
memories whimper as I bundle them all
off to the thrift shop, two pfennig
in the front pocket.
Word Play 
Love this poem, especially the last stanza. It all sounds so easy at the beginning, getting rid of things that hold nothing for you. It’s the ones that hold something but still need to go that are hard. I try to give these things to people I know, thinking they will retain some of their meaning, be taken care of in some way. Lovely poem.
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Thanks, Molly. Yeah, it’s the death of me all this sentimentality. 🙂 Good idea about giving it to folks we know!
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