![]() |
Warning: “cleaning your closet” brings monsters into the rest of the house! |
| Un-repressing I had the courage to clean my closet, and let me caution you— I created catastrophe with the clutter. Oh, the monsters are no longer there. Instead, they stomp around my domicile— scaring my kids and my cats and dogs. There’s the fat one sitting with legs spread wide, on the middle of the couch, hand half in bag and other half in mouth, a mouth that criticizes every channel we choose. Then there’s the angry one, standing at the foosball table, ready to ram the ball rudely down your plastic man’s throat. And then there’s the one sitting at my writing table, rubbing his head again and again, with turmoil and irritation, tears staining his paper, wondering why it was so wise to whisk the closet out in the first damned place. This poem is from a book by Dan Sturn
about a Poet's journey down a river, chasing a bottle tossed by the fingertips of "that I am." |