Antique Dealer

By Marcus B. Christian

I am a dealer in antiques,

Offering for sale things of the past,

Fondly holding in my hands

Things grown beautiful through remodelings.

Words -- old words -- that still can warm the heart.

Oh, I have a few harsh ones, too;

Twisted, hateful things,

That lacerate the flesh that handles them,

As sharp as a shrewish tongue.

Oh but perhaps you would like to see --

Would like to purchase a heart?

Look! here in this musty earthen jar,

Are scores of them -- some slightly cracked

Some twisted all awry -- some broken outright.

See! how widely this one gapes!

It was a young girl's, broken by her lover

Or here is a mother's heart that knew a wayward son.

Here is a heart that was crushed by circumstances;

And here's one pierced by the sharp words of one's beloved;

Or one torn through the treachery of a friend.

Here are old memories --

All kinds of memories,

Bought at a great price --

Now sold for almost nothing.

Here's a baby's shoe,

Whose former owner outgrew it

And went the way of all flesh.

I am the dealer in antiques,

Dealer in heart strings.

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