Step One: locate a room, a lovely room,
perhaps with Persian rugs, the softest kind,
and pillows, lots of pillows. You will find
the silken ones feel best. And maybe blue
delphiniums, and pink hydrangeas, too.
Two glasses, one for water, one for wine.
Dark chocolates. Bach. And lots of books to line
the shelves, and pictures that your children drew.
Oh yes, a lock to fasten on the door,
a heavy one. You’re set. Step Two. Now pull
together all your thoughts about the needs
the self perceives, I’m sure that there are more.
Arrange the thoughts until they’re comfortable.
Forget them. Lock them. Lose the key. Step Three.
Proper care and feeding of your soul? Forgetaboutit! Or, maybe rather, Give it no thought; no thought at all.
I do like the plot-twist of this heavy lock for the door. Initially, you think it’s to keep the outside world at bay, but rather, it’s to do so for what the self thinks it needs. (Mine own two glasses would need to contain coffee and dark ale, porter or stout, but let’s not quibble nor take our eye off the ball.)
Okay, this singular quibble: “Pictures that your children drew” will be left on the other side of that heavy-locked, lost-keyed door?
I do like the tone of this poem. Both casual and firm.
ahhhhh, yessssss………………. xoxo
The octave is my favorite, it moves so gracefully and naturally, considering its sonnet shape.
The turn at the sestet is clever, the idea of locking the needs away.
I wonder if you should go for a “sturdy” lock instead of a heavy one. There’s a lot riding on those last two words, Step Three. Perhaps too much.
I wonder if leading that idea in the title might leave it a bit less of a leap, as in
Three steps for the proper care and feeding of the self. I don’t know. I just don’t feel closure, but I do feel opensure:>)