The Cushion

Even a pillow, a cushion,
A random bolster or back pad,
Can become entangled in meanings
If one or more of you spin them.

The functional significance
Isn’t terribly relevant,
But if one of your family,
Since deceased, clung to that pillow

Or carried that damned seat cushion
With them everywhere, then later
You may project all kinds of thoughts
Onto the sight of that object.

If asked why you keep the cushion,
Unused, in some dusty corner,
You will explain its importance,
Its wealth of associations.

You may throw in an anecdote,
Something about the departed,
Amusingly illustrating
Their attachment to that cushion

That might yet end up in the trash,
After you’re gone, or a thrift store,
Be used as a movie-set prop,
Gain still someone else’s meanings,

Meanings being like that, webbing
Cast by human attachments, weak,
However—so weak they can’t cling,
Evaporative, true spirits.