The Museum of Ordinary Things
by Cecilia (Xiyu) Zhang, Lauriston Girls School
Years 7 – 8 Written Poetry Finalist
Welcome to the Museum of Ordinary Things.
Please do not touch the exhibits.
Exhibit I: House Key
Small coppery key, a bit worn,
stained with fingerprints
Once turned in the lock every afternoon
by the child who knew exactly which floorboards
creaked the loudest on the way inside
Eventually the key stopped fitting.
Exhibit II: Chewed Pencil
Short enough to disappear between two fingers
Graphite that once stained countless papers
worn down by names written in the corners of pages
homework completed last minute, corrected with red pen:
1+1≠3
Sharpened until almost nothing remained
Now there’s nothing left to sharpen
Exhibit III: Faded Photograph
A family gathered beneath bad lighting
Someone is laughing.
Someone is looking away.
Everyone is still there, at least in this
rectangle of paper.
Somehow, the 4 x 3 frame remembers more
than they ever will
Source: Unknown
Exhibit IV: Wooden Chair
A wooden chair beside a table
Nothing remarkable about it.
Dust has gradually gathered
where someone’s hand used to rest.
Inscription: N/A
Date: N/A
Current occupant: None
Exhibit V:
Temporarily removed for conservation.
We apologise for the inconvenience.
Welcome to the Museum of Ordinary Things.
Please leave your memories at the door
How did writing this poem make you feel?
This poem was inspired by a funny story actually; I had recently visited a unique museum, and I thought “what else could museums exhibit?” It did take a while of thinking, but eventually I decided that because museums always showcase the most exceptional, priceless, precious objects, what would happen if there was a museum that simply showed the most common, ‘insignificant’ things? And so I came up with ‘the Museum of Ordinary Things.” There is a very special collection on display — the most ordinary everyday household objects one could ever encounter. However, further along the poem, it is revealed that things that may seem insignificant — a key, a pencil, a photograph — can all carry traces of their previous owner, the one who gave them all life. Ultimately, this poem made me feel reflective and extremely nostalgic — it made me realise how much meaning can exist in ordinary things, and how writing can preserve moments that might otherwise disappear. As I wrote, I felt like I was looking back at different fragments of my life — some slightly faded, some still bright and clear as day — and giving them all a place to exist again. It was comforting, but also really bittersweet, as I was reminded that even the most ordinary moments eventually turn into unique memories.
Which single line in your poem are you the absolute proudest of?
Every sentence, every word, every letter was carefully chosen as the poem was written, but the line that had always stood out to me was the last one, ‘Please leave your memories at the door’. I love how this line turned out as it echoes the opening instruction, ‘Please do not touch the exhibits’, giving the poem a circular structure. However, it also seems paradoxical: the entire museum is made up of objects that preserve memories, so leaving those memories behind is almost impossible.
Describe your poem in three words
Nostalgic, understated and rather poignant.
My poem explores the way ordinary objects preserve traces of the past, from a childhood house key to a faded family photograph; and rather than explicitly describing emotions, I used subtle details, sparse language and museum-like labels to let the audience infer the deeper meaning. Beneath the seemingly mundane exhibits also lies a quiet sense of loss, absence and the passage of time; almost offering readers a sense of ambiguity to the many hidden implications.”
Where is your absolute favourite place to sit when you are brainstorming ideas?
This is actually a funny one, really, but my favourite place to be when brainstorming and writing is probably underneath my piano, which is unsurprisingly where I wrote this poem. There’s something unique about that cosy space that makes it feel like my own little world, away from distractions. I think being surrounded by music, even in silence, helps me think more differently and let my imagination wander. It’s a rather unconventional writing spot, but somehow, it works.
What skills do you think you strengthened through writing this poem?
Through this poem, I found that my abilities to use symbolism and imagery to convey deeper meanings were both strengthened. I developed the ability to further create emotions from small, specific details; showing a lot more rather than simply telling. Lastly, I also improved my structural and descriptive writing skills, which enabled me to achieve a poem filled with wonder, creativity and inspiration. I hope you enjoyed my poem! Thank you!
Why do you think people write poetry?
People write poetry because some things just cannot be said plainly. Because there are feelings too tangled for ordinary sentences, memories too fragile to simply give away, moments too fleeting to ever let go of. Poetry gives a new shape and purpose to things we cannot hold – a way to preserve a feeling, a memory, or to turn silence into something that can be heard. It gives us a way to express what can never be said with just words.