You wouldn't want to visit our house today,
Though you'd be welcome.
All the furniture has converged in the center of our bedroom
and hidden itself under plastic sheeting --
protecting itself from the "Storytime" shade of blue on the wall
and just a little on the carpet.
We had enough paint, but we ran out of weekend,
so for a few nights we squeeze together into the smaller guest bed
while the cat sulks because there's no room for her.
Also in the guest room are boxes recently in storage,
bags of baby clothes resting on their journey from one friend to another,
two ironing boards - one from each of our houses, neither ready to separate
stacks of gifts from generous friends and well-wishers
(awaiting thank-you notes before they can be put into commission)
invitations, ribbons, baskets and tulle for the upcoming wedding
hundreds of dusty books - too numerous to read, too precious to throw away
camping supplies, seldom-used sporting goods
box after box of photos and mementos...
all piled up, waiting
creating an obstacle course between the crowded bed
and the door to the rest of the world
it's a hazard, really.
Toes, shins, and balance -- beware!
Perhaps it could've been less dangerous
if we had not gone to the fireworks, the cookouts, the parties
If we had locked ourselves in until each coat was dry
each item in place, every room habitable and clean.
Yes, that would've been lovely --
convenience, accomplishment, cleanliness, godliness.
You might like to visit THAT house.
Still, I prefer the laughter of friends and a layer of dust.
Look for me wallowing in the chaos of happiness.
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POP!
11 years ago
1 comment:
Welcome back Mander! I like. The message of sacrificing appearance and order for meaning and connection is a great one, and it comes through loud and clear. My only suggestion would be that you turn more of your stuff in the middle into something more useful to that meaning. For example, the fact that the baby clothes are in transit to/from friends shows that their existence in your lives is an "unintended" consequence of your connection to those folks. Same with the two ironing boards -- flotsam and jetsam of your relationship with Sam. Gifts from friends, ditto. That internal story -- of things arising out of relationships -- starts getting lost at the books, the camping supplies, the sporting goods.... I am certain you could weave the theme into these, but they start just sounding like a laundry list by the end.
Ditto with the next stanza -- maybe you don't want to be this explicit, but I would love to hear how the "layer of dust" YOUR FRIENDS HELPED CREATE almost trips you every morning on the way to "the world." It would tie the piece together in a way that's vaguely implied now.
Just my thoughtful ramblings...glad you were inspired to inscribe!
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