Forgotten Faces on Thrift-Shop Shelves

that stale smell
a sour mix of age
born of tobacco smoke,
sweat, cooking grease,
brittle paper, plastic,
and baby odors
it hangs like London fog
in any thrift shop,
in any town,
anywhere…

it fills the aisles
as we collectors
and deal seekers search
cruising the shelves
like hungry wolves,
looking for game
in search of
like-new tee shirts,
blue jeans worn at the knee,
colorful collector glassware,
old yellowing books,
well worn dolls
arcane golf clubs,
canes, crutches
and walkers
left behind by those
healed or past on
the castoffs of life
litter the shelves…

handled by the elderly
incomes demanding thrift
the upscale looking
for a find to grace a trophy case
and impress a snobbish friend
the homeless and poor
grimy and worn
eyes wide looking
for warmth and wear
street kids from the suburbs
looking for costumes
to state independence
that flash ‘check me out!’
the young and old
grazing the fields of the used
one mans trash
another mans treasure….

and always somewhere
in a corner, a barrel,
a table or a bin
stand clustered in chaos
the oil paintings, prints,
and old frames
call them gifts
or ugly mistakes
purchased
on bad vacations
passed on
by sweet aunt Rose
painted
by myopic cousin Stewart
found wrapped
offered for birthdays,
forgotten anniversaries,
Christmas under the tree
only later
to be found buried in attics
hidden in dark basements
dust covered in garages
next to become
remnants of an estate
garage or yard sale
unwanted
artistic refuse
of a world with
incredibly bad taste
and the desire to buy anything…

next to the paintings
is a sad but familiar corner
full of aging picture frames
in gilt, wood, metal,
and tortoise shell
fifty cents to maybe three dollars
all waiting to be refilled
with current friends and kin
all rifled through
a hundred times
left at every angle and condition
some twisted and broken
some with glass missing
most with a lost photo
a sepia toned shot
filled with history
filled with a need
to be somewhere else
to be loved
not tossed aside…

a couple on their nuptial day
smiling for a future
now obviously long since past
a soldier in his uniform
someone’s brother or son
left upon a beach at Normandy
a little girl in high button boots
with a china head doll
a little boy with girlish curls
in knickers with his sleepy dog
a stoic family in gingham aprons,
overalls, and stove pipe hats
people of the fields
a hundred
different faces
in a thousand
different stores
all the people
of a million lifetimes
left here nameless
and forgotten
a morgue
for departed memories
a graveyard
for these people now unknown
all their good times
and their bad times
etched here
upon each staring face
a history in wrinkles
a promise in a smile
joy within the gleam reflected
in a chocolate colored eye…

each time I’m here
it causes me to stop
and look into those images
those oh so familiar faces
while thinking
once again
how we all could live forever
if we could
just keep from ending up
among the forgotten faces
on Thrift Shop shelves….

R. C. Arquette 2/8/04