searching for buried treasure

like pirates,

my father's harem,

in mourning, search

high

and low,

in the now

empty house.

digging

for hidden jewels,

the cash

box,

a checkbook,

or something.

into the attic they go

with lanterns,

and torches,

pulling

up the floorboards.

trying every rusted

key

on each heavy box

holding

dust and mold.

they lift

each picture on the wall,

searching

for that elusive

safe 

that held the gold.

but with no luck.