I’m in the midst of the ripe, rife search
through the debris of my mind
where clutter barricades doorways
and obscures the way out
It’s easier to throw away the new things
those meaningless consumables
It’s the old keepsakes
that I can’t bear to part with
the kindergarten drawings
of big-headed princesses
beneath lemon yellow suns
the faded stuffed horse
she brought to life again and again
its fur pilled and worn
the quilt that covered her bed
until the very last day
Grief wraps its arms around these memories
it tethers them to me
but they don’t bring me comfort
just a sense of lost years,
a sense that my life is an old photo,
the edges bleached white
I have to move the piles,
the collections and discarded bins
that obstruct my view of the exit
or I’ll become another piece of junk
I have to stand up
even though lying down is so much easier