In The Emptying
The barn is empty,
slowly stripped of the debris
that has crept in for generations,
the piles of broken things,
of abandoned things,
of useless things, not wanted,
no longer cared for,
but still clung to,
things of theoretical value,
and only that.
It has taken ages to pry these things loose,
to admit their uselessness to your life,
to confess your clinging
to dead things,
and begin at last to expose them
to the light
and let them go.
Some will be claimed by others,
tinkers perhaps, with a will to wrestle
them back to usefulness,
or to other collectors of the broken.
And in the giving, in the emptying,
you are the winner, for your old barn,
once so full there was nothing
is suddenly full
About this poem
We do this in our spaces. We do this in our lives.