Cold concrete floor and deafening silence <br />locks on every door displaying numbers <br />no names or personalities, no music or kid’s steps <br />just the sound of all seasons rushing to escape <br />sneaking through the cracks are our collective tales. <br /> <br />Old photo albums, and dresses with there tags <br />unopened Christmas presents, and the crystal wine glass <br />love letters from the seventies and teddy bears from the past <br />Oh! grandma recipes books and old biker pants. <br /> <br />Ballet dancer shoes and the exercise sound tracks <br />broken plastic chairs and plastic covered sofas <br />empty perfume bottles and the broken music box <br />the left over gift wraps and of course dirty dolls. <br /> <br />The babies’ first shoes and grandpas' eye wears <br />old crumbled maps and mangled license plates <br />The high-school diplomas and dried gummy bears <br />college essay papers and expired credit cards. <br /> <br />The unfinished craft projects and dried paint brushes <br />dust dressed magazines and the old version software <br />mismatched socks with holes and smaller blouse with stains <br />the forgotten changes in the pockets and washed up dollar bills. <br /> <br />Wondering through the coldness of Public-Self-Storage <br />are our defiant tails 'occupying' unnecessary space. <br /> <br />© Emu Getachew, October 30th,2009<br /><br />Emu Getachew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/public-self-storage-space/
