After while you forget what all that stuff in storage was.
—Stewart Warren
I had forgotten that kiss
with the broken hinge
and that fist on the desk
with a leg missing.
And the angers folded up
like paper dolls, ripped.
I’d forgotten the banging
on the crooked door
and the slamming of
the empty silverware drawer
and spike in the bedroom wall.
I had forgotten the heat,
the quiet, the taste of metal
in my mouth. I’d forgotten
all about it until I found
that old key. And I only opened
the storage door a crack, but all
that old stuff fell out on me. Isn’t it strange
how we don’t just throw stuff away?
We store it in case it is useful some day
—we hoard it in our closets, we lock it
in our minds. Sometimes we label it
so we can find it again.
Sometimes we just give it a toss
and it lands in a heap with other things
we once loved. And they all
gather dust. And they all gather dust.
Leave the storage door closed.
Lose the key. Take a walk.
Or light a fire.
Absolutely.
On 5/2/14, 9:56 AM, “comment-reply@wordpress.com” wrote:
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I am attracted to those opening leaps, the kiss, fist, anger, translated into a physical world of things. Such structure for emotions, a great way to give them physicality.