Member-only story
A family poem
I decided I would search the attic
For what I thought was there
A pair of old ice skates
I knew were there somewhere
My search was cut short when
To my amazement I found a box
of my dad’s old fountain pens
The ink bottles all so black not one was blue
Were dried so hard I just bagged and away I threw
My mom’s big hats hung on nails so rusty
Went along with a smell so dank and musty
Boxes some with tags and labels marked
A family history in the gloom and dark
I wanted to continue searching when
From the corner a fleeting little mouse sent
Me scurrying away with chills and fright
And the promise I would return in the day
When there was a more inviting light.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #396)
