Jen Ashburn

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Palaver in the House of Abandoned Things

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I argued with the ghosts of my mother’s paintbrushes
and the ghosts of oil paint tubes with bodies curled like seahorses
and the ghost of the cherrywood paintbox that held them all
like a mouth full of gum and twigs. I argued
with the ghost of my mother’s sewing machine
and the ghosts of little-girl dress patterns
and the ghost of polycotton fabric heaped on the worktable,
waiting to be sheared or ironed or pinned. I wanted
the ghosts to say, “This is the kind of person your mother was”
or “This is the kind of person you are”
and even “Here is the relationship between those two things,”
but they just shook their heads and sighed. Some nights,
the ghosts and I listen to my mother’s favorite records.
They let the needle scratch across Bach’s Violin Concertos
and tell me they knew only her hands—how she held
the paintbrushes and pushed the polycotton
under the sewing machine’s gnawing foot. Then I realize
absence creates a kind of presence. This, the ghosts
have always known. They like to keep me company, they say.
I tell them I’m weary of arguing, and they shrug.

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‍Jen Ashburn is the author of the poetry book The Light on the Wall and has work published in numerous venues, including The Fiddlehead, The Writer’s Almanac and Mud Season Review. She holds an MFA from Chatham University and teaches creative writing and first-year composition at Duquesne University.

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