I am cleaning house in the rain. Beginning

with this labor of unmake and pick apart,

these scraps and bits unused, those no longer

fitting. (Like the memories of a two-year-old

scolded for not knocking, bitter childish snickers

over fashions homemade. How we fear our bodies,

are jealous of our minds. Those elaborate teenaged

stories that told the wrong thing: heart-burning,

stomach-churning, love bottled and thrown

and unshown.) It is a long row, my fingers stiff

with unstitching, shoulders hunched with winding

all threads back to a ball. (The socks sparkled, but

were they warm?) Neatness counts. (In this, as always,

your servant.) I can no longer haul this colorful mess

from one continent to the next.



3 thoughts on “Unraveling

  1. So insightful! ‘Those elaborate teenaged/stories that told the wrong thing:’ my heart gulped (is that a thing?). I still tell those stories! So stuck in that space. And I love how you tie in the meditative practice that is house work, how cleaning out a closet can bring up so much business to tend to. Very nicely done.

    Liked by 1 person

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