a statement

The pictures
sit
propped
against the wall.
Like so
for two months,
now.
Unhung.
Paintings.
Posters.
Photos.
Piled one
against another
and another.
Like so
for two months,
now.
He’s thought
a few times
about
placing them.
But he hasn’t moved
one.
So, they remain.
Like so,
for two months,
now.
They had places
at his other
places.
They’re all
old friends.
A child.
Two. Three.
Venice.
A door, there.
A hockey player.
Two.
Three.
Hanging them,
he has decided,
is
a statement
he’s not ready
to make.
Not yet,
if ever,
here.
He feels as though
he should
apologize
to them.
But he doesn’t.
So, they remain.
Like so,
for two months,
now.