Spring Cleaning

Here, pack a few things in the basket
and haul them away. I do not care where,
just someplace that is not here,
not in sight. Not where I am forced
by mere presence to think about it.

Just a few things for now. There is no hurry.
The world may seem to change fast,
to dump on us, but it is an erratic kind of dumping,
and a little discipline, a smidge of it every day,
creates the world I want. Guaranteed.

It does not matter, what goes, what stays,
as long as you choose. You do not let it
swallow you without thinking, becoming
baggage without a journey, things, once bright and shiny,
become clutter.

Rarely does it take addition.
Almost always
it takes subtraction.
So, today, just a thing or two in the basket. Every day.
It is enough. It is always enough.

About this poem.

A poem about clutter. The kind in our houses. The kind in our minds. The kind in our spirits. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village.

Tom