Sliding open these glass doors
I want that great blue heron to
believe I am no threat–he’s
flying across the lake in croaking
protest. I’m considering how to treat
the things in my life with respect.
Bidding goodbye with gratitude to
what no longer gives me joy.
I thought I was spartan but
possessions cling to me like burrs.
I once traveled for three months
carrying only a small backpack.
I found that every gift
lightened my load. Hiking boots
for my huge feet hung from my
shoulder. I remember traders
from Otavalo fingering the leather,
offering exchanges of colorful woven
treasures. We settled on a spare
camera and my sketches from San Agostin–
an eagle swallowing a snake, a two-
headed warrior, mysterious deities
carved into stone, abandoned so
long ago the sculptors’ only trace.
My towels are hung slipshod,
my drawers higgledy-piggledy,
sulking in the dark the things unwanted
as I push them further, filling
my space with everything I have no time
for and a some day that never comes.
Inspired by The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondo, the book I opened in response to the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: “open book, point, write.” Pick up the closest book to you when you sit down to write your post. Close your eyes, open the book, and place your finger on the page. Whatever word or phrase your finger lands on, write about it. (And, as always, the post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing (typos can be fixed), and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.)