Shining

my mother seals doors with oil to insulate the value
my father always polished doors, handles, boats
I have woken up too many times with longing for that time
the fireplace, the passage beckon at night, they call me
they sing to me with the bookshelves
tears only melt their endurance, and they fade too fast
I now know what to do
I look up, I hold up these wooden golden memories
the doors do not close with the moving night hours
I see the winter tree, the Christmas saturated garden
I walk into that kitchen, the stove is still holding our cupcake tray
instead of an empty searing heart bleeding into that sacred space
I hold it up,
take a cloth
I polish and polish these memories
until my fingers are raw
until they are reflected in front on me,
revived, eternal
I shine them until nothing can blur my vision
and lay down the cloth
the reflection is perfect
an untainted, renewed captured life
flowers, rainstorms
a picnic in the poplar forest
they shine more lively than the living.