Cleaning the Living Room (a #poem)
Dust hovers unsettled in sunlight,
threatening to land on patterned grains
of tables at rest.
I observe the suspension
of noise, remember the
activity:
buzzing, rising, howling,
softening.
The children are gone.
It is time
to put things in order.
Restack the books,
ensconce the trinkets to
their pride of place,
lay out the careful pages
of precious books
too fragile for the 3 year old.
I ponder – is it time?
Time to clear the shelves,
store the volumes,
the puzzles, the blocks,
the at-hand playthings
that entertain?
Their visits are so seldom now–
we might not need these
simple supplies of childhood.
I notice I’m moving materials,
organizing, streamlining, rearranging,
but there is more being handled
than just the objects of my
affection.
Something is being made anew in me,
a chapter of change
on the inside
where ‘within’ will
be the work at hand,
moving the ‘furniture’,
changing the view
from the inside out.
Maybe it’s time to take back this space
and return it to its rightful owners,
make room for the youthful visitors
as guests (not takeover artists :-).
Yes, I think I’ll clean my living room.
