Walk through through the turnstiles at the door
the familiar scent smacks you in the face
rack after rack of unwanted, forgotten goods await your roaming hands...
price tags stapled on...twice.
gospel music blaring
who once wore
these gold high heels?
Twirled in this dress?
Who once turned the pages in this tattered book?
drank from this ceramic cup?
sang loudly with this cassette tape?
what have these hanging pictures seen?
...the clothing is smashed into blocks and stacked.
the dumpster outside overflowing...