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Tia Haynes

Possessions

After mom died, most of what I collected from her home wasn’t anything worth saving. In the moment, even an old scrap of paper seemed precious, so I gathered box after box of what would later become trash. One thing I forgot, and remembered yesterday and six years too late, was the wind chimes holding my grandfather’s ashes. He had been a musician, and when they chimed my mother believed he was playing just for her.

these hills—
here again
last year’s snow

I was with a friend when I remembered about the chimes. “Maybe one of the cleaners saw beauty in them and kept them,” she responded. “Maybe they ended up in a trinket shop and a lovely old widow picked them up. Maybe he plays for her. Or for a young couple setting up their first home. Maybe a child dreams while they chime on a breezy day.” Or maybe, I thought, they’re simply buried in a junkyard, like so many memories.

new moon
how the wind stirs 
inside me 

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About the Author

Tia Haynes resides in Lakewood, Ohio, with her husband and two daughters. When not writing poetry, she enjoys vegan cuisine and theater of all kinds.