The Mess

The Mess

“Ignore the mess.”

I used to say that sometimes.

I sometimes say it still; 

A prayer for understanding and 

Release from expectations that the

World has carried us so far beyond 

that they should be a

Memory as old as cave paintings. 

Which mess, anyway?

The art project pile of cardboard nearly as tall as my head.

The earthly remains of puppy toys 

Scattered like ashes across the floor.

The garden gone wild, miscellaneous 

Debris from last growing season 

Left behind like crime scene 

Evidence of fatigue.

Maybe social skills 

Grown rusty and hard to open like the

Seldom used gate with the latch that sticks.

The conversational tongue that stutters around awkward silences when the words can’t find their way.

The other that spills pent-up words and emotions like the weight inside his chest 

Broke the levee wide open. 

The bare and aching spirits left out in the open

Like last night’s dishes still in the drainer

For anyone to see.

Unkempt, but not forgotten, 

Not unloved. 

Living. 

Breathing. 

Being. 

Fallow and trying to rest; 

Eager for Spring.