I've always been of Eco Mind
I wouldn't say pack rat,
but I do not live in a sterile environment.
White is not a good color for me.
I once got a new sweatshirt,
Before it even hung upon my shoulders-
Tagged with stadium yellow splotted mustard.
Character-I call it.
Frequently dusted dirt
Sits comfortably tucked up against my nails.
Real dirt,
Soil,
Of the Earth.
I'm ok with that.
There are others,
Cut from the same cloth.
I find comfort there.
The messy ones,
The dirty ones,
The ones who can sit in a patch of grass.
When my mom died,
I kept more,
Of everything.
I gathered from her house,
In a span of three days time,
Every scrap of paper,
Every recipe,
Digging in every drawer.
Searching for that grace,
In pockets she touched before.
Things I remembered her wearing,
Thinking fondly upon snapshot glimpses,
the cake she baked when the leaves began to change.
Delicate touches around her neck,
Hoops that hung from her ears,
A bracelet that jingle jangled.
All of what I could grab.
And now I have them,
Sitting in boxes,
Taking up space-
Everything my hands,
And her car would fit,
I wish I had bigger closets,
To hold all the memories,
My shelves alone cant hide.
There's so much more,
that was left behind,
That solid desk top tape holder,
The decadent ol’ St. Nick,
My brothers 3rd grade painted dinosaur.
I would hold onto all of it,
in my tiny 900 sq ft apartment,
Just to keep her close.
The clothes too big,
I would find a way to taper,
Crossword puzzles, and articles,
A magazine she flipped thru once,
Valentines cards, and lesson plans, sit stacked,
Waiting for education, to trickle in my brain,
Her grocery bags now hang empty,
awaiting a last minute grab.
And I don't want to let go.
And yet I have so much stuff.
And I wish I kept more, still,
I would turn it into something else.
The gifts she left behind,
A road map for my art.
Keeping her close around me.
My mess.
Her presents.
Yearning for transformation,
As I wake each day,
A new.
Planting rainbows,
In the mourning.
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