Books:
dusty boxes of faded physics texts,
outdated Methodist doctrine,
“How to Survive Breast Cancer” booklet with dog-eared pages
Scarves and gloves:
chiffon squares with rolled hems,
Sunday gloves, yellowed and safety-pinned into pairs
Clothes:
suits, and neckties of varying width,
closets stuffed with housedresses
their sizes creeping upward,
a lone prom dress,
its mating call color and shiny fabric
out of place amongst polyester pantsuits.
Photographs:
shoebox of family snapshots
undated, unnamed, unclaimed;
high school graduation portrait
alone in a nail stubbled hallway.
Medical equipment:
cane, walker, wheelchair
testaments to decline.
Detritus:
Employee of the Year award from a now-gone department store;
gold rimmed 50th anniversary plate;
perfect attendance certificate from the Lion’s Club.
Terminus:
once life’s treasures, their masking-tape price tags
now reduced to MAKE AN OFFER
on the last day of the sale.
Fort Davis, Texas
2004
misc. and so forth 
There is such a sadness about estate sales; you have captured it perfectly.
Thank you, Vicki.