Poem: Rainy Day

Today's prompt: Write about something you own that you’re going to use someday but haven’t yet. When I wrote this poem, I didn't realize that my mother died seven years ago today. For some odd reason this posted on the first instead of the second, but it's actually poem #2.

Rainy Day

There’s nothing in my house being saved for a rainy day.

Cleaning up after my mother died took care of that.

Growing up during the great depression taught her about scarcity,

And it became a family tradition.

I grew up using thread-bare towels when

Stacks of new ones were hidden in the closet.

My Grandmother’s bone china and crystal stemware

Never used, but always on display.

Tablecloths, sheets, pillowcases, and washcloths

Carefully hand-embroidered by my aunt were tucked away.

After she died, I found unopened packages of bath salts,

French soaps, and Channel No.5,

Dusty bottles of Jim Beam, Canadian Club, Dwars. and Remy Martin,

Cases of cocktail napkins, colored toothpicks, and paper plates.

Treasures buried in every cupboard, my mother lived like a pirate,

When she died in a stormy sea, the doubloons were left to me.

I kept what I could use and gave the rest away.

There’s nothing in my house being saved for a rainy day.