april’s fool
when i was 49
i started throwing things away
first it was old love letters
and too-short dresses
broken bracelets and lidless saucepans
piles of books and how-to magazines
finally moving on to bowls and worn towels
then shiny bits of empty ornament
the room grew larger but i kept shrinking
i sucked in a breath to keep me anchored
and i cleaned with the faith of a zealot
scrubbing broken brick
and washing stains out of memory
until everything was bleached
as the bones i had scattered in the sand
afterward i lay on the damp wood floor
staring up at a sky i’d drawn with blue pencil
my back ached and my arms were empty
my stomach growled with the pleasure of hunger
i had cleaned my slate and now i was ready
for dessert or silence or immunity
it wasn’t until dawn i remembered
i’d forgotten to outline the sun
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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo, see more here.
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April 1st, 2014 at 9:40 am
this is FABULOUS!!!! best first lines ever and of course, the rest is just . . . well, i know that room of which you speak.
April 1st, 2014 at 12:04 pm
Your words make me smile!
April 1st, 2014 at 12:48 pm
smiles…no need to put the sun in a box though…let it just shine….the purge though i def understand as there are plenty things we cling to that we no longer need…luckily i dont have too many short skirts to throw out…smiles.
April 1st, 2014 at 1:24 pm
Fantastic write, a clean slate and dessert . . . . it doesn’t get better than that.
April 1st, 2014 at 2:48 pm
it’s so exciting to think of getting to read a poem a day from you!
April 1st, 2014 at 2:49 pm
oh that is a very cool poem…one of my favs i read by you so far… the clean slate…the lying on the floor and drawing a sky with blue pencil… ready to make new memories – ready for a new chapter – i like
April 1st, 2014 at 7:23 pm
I started throwing things away in 2007, when Mom died…and I’ve been doing it ever since. How can the stuff that I need to get rid of, keep accumulating? It’s like the loaves and the fishes. First Mom dying, then Dad moving out of his home. Boxes and boxes of things get shipped to me, the family archivist, to sort through. With my Dad, sometimes it was receipts and wadded-up kleenexes, shipped across two states for me to sort through…
April 1st, 2014 at 8:31 pm
God, I am such a pack rat, bordering on hoarder; keeping old college notes, journals, essays, thousands of things written or outlined; & I have the addiction of being a collector, over 30,000 movies on shelves in my basement. My wife somehow tolerates my love of ephemera & unholy need for completing a collection (it used to be comics & stamps). She is more like you, a purger, a cleaner; lovely contrast to the nostalgia nut.
April 1st, 2014 at 8:43 pm
Kelly, this speaks to my soul…. The entire poem a new favorite and these lines are magnificent …. i had cleaned my slate and now i was ready
for dessert or silence or immunity
I feel this to my core.
April 2nd, 2014 at 12:28 am
this has to be one of my favourite ones by you.
April 3rd, 2014 at 6:21 pm
I’m 49, I moved last week, and know that backache, and that clean slate. Except it’s never quite … clean… ~