Little Pieces Of Nothing Poem by Phil Mason

Books piled on tables
On the floor
In a bookcase.
Dogeared in places,
Some open, most closed.
To whom do they belong?

Pictures ring the walls of the house.
Children: older, younger, and younger still.
Who are they, why are they here?
Who lives here?
Are they part of the houses soul,
its essence?

Pictures hung with magnets on
the refrigerator door. More children,
Slips of paper,
notes, little pieces
of nothing
stuck on a door.

Pictures of a man sitting next
to two women.
The women are not the same.
Who are they?
What stories and tales could they tell?
The man is the same, years apart, but the same.

He is me.