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. 











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