HEIRLOOMS

by Richard Schnap

There was an empty marmalade jar
Where he kept his antique pens
And a small Dutch radio
On the top shelf of his desk

And when I dared to enter
Into the sanctuary of his room
He’d be balancing his checkbook
While a classical station played

Now the jar holds pencils
As the radio blares rock
But no frightened child disturbs me
Who I’d stare at without a sound

But sometimes in the evenings
When the world seems far away
I can almost feel him with me
Wishing for a second chance