A Glorious Mess
There are days you want to pull out all the drawers
and pour them out on the floor,
mix all the stuff of them on the floor
and see if it matters just where is where,
see if it matters how much you kept
and how much you did not,
betting on surprises,
some of them bonfire worthy,
some bringing tears and wonder
that you keep it all so compartmentalized
for so long, pretending it did not matter,
only keeping life a bit neater, a bit easier,
till you look at the mess and realize
there’s a reason for all the drawers
and start the hard work
of filling each drawer anew.
Perhaps reorganized. Perhaps not.
Order you find out. matters.
Having some things invisible, matters
more than you realized. A glorious mess
is still a mess.
About this poem.
Thinking about therapy this morning. Thinking about cleaning up before my son arrives for a couple of days next week. Poetry is never about one thing.