Mother was an inveterate attendee
at flea markets and Goodwill stores
and I would accompany her.
She had a knack for antiques, would
rummage for stereopticon slides,
player piano rolls and anything else
she thought belonged in the family room
she had taken back to the late 19th century.
She scouted the stalls, the dark
corners where Goodwill put things
they didn’t think would sell, I
headed quickly for the books, not
booksellers, they knew the value
of what lay on their tables, but
the generalist, garage sales on a table
and with my five dollars and good luck
I might find a gem or two or just roll the dice
and take the large but always stapled
brown paper bags of books, two dollars
a bag, one dollar late in the day,
for the joy of seeing what was inside
knowing Goodwill would take my rejects.