Lazy days in our twenties antiquing—looking
through the old treasures of grandmothers,
wanting purpose in chiseled metal, an excuse
to purchase it for the utensil drawer or a show-off
wall space above the mantel or guest toilet.
Once found old school, colored, glass chicken
dishes like Mama T’s ones—a birthday gift
for a dresser to be filled with studded earrings.
Each piece arrived separately, boxes ten times
the size needed, surrounded by white, fluffy
peanuts and the memories of stale hard candy
peppermint and butterscotch that would have
called us rude if we didn’t smile and reach in.
Finding things of our mothers in thrift stores
these days—knitted doilies, shiny end tables—
and wondering what items children will find us in.