It All Stacks up
The cast iron pans pile up in the sink Left side, They were rusted already don't worry. Weeks they have sat; "I will wash them," I think And yet still they wait and I tarry. Papers are jumbled in cardboard and sacks Dining table, on top and below, Months of collecting in cluttered array... "I will sort them," I mutter as I walk away, carrying baskets of clean clothes as I go. It is chaos and not, living here in this house. It is messy and yet organized. It is loud and intense and I'm not qualified most days, but I look on with pride.