Too-small pajama pants clog
my sons’ dresser, atop which
a blue sabertooth tiger crouches
in a jungle of Pokemon cards
that may never be organized, banked
by my oldest’s treasure box whose key
is mysteriously missing (I suspect
his little brother), and that is just one spot!
Plastic boxes, once organized with toys, spill
out of twin beds’ underbellies, library books litter
the floor, dirty laundry clutters unmade beds,
picture books are uneven teeth hanging
off the edge of the bookshelf. God knows
what lurks in their closet —
the sheer volume of stuff might bury me.
“We have to figure this out,” I sigh,
squeezing freshly folded pajamas in a sliver
of one drawer. My husband just chuckles.
Doesn’t he feel the trappings
of our children’s junk?
Sometimes my life feels like this messy room,
no matter how hard I try to maintain
a tidy exterior, clutter always finds me —
I have ideas that no longer fit hidden
in old shopping bags, regrets overflowing
from the hamper, insecurities stacked beneath
the bed. I’m afraid of what you’ll think when you
see me. You ask if I’ve heard of The Life Changing
Magic of Tidying Up? I have
a hard time letting go.
Someday soon I’ll brave their room to edit
and sort, edit
and sort, but I must remember
spring cleaning has its limits
tidiness always comes undone
there’s no easy way to hide
your humanity.
Erin Strybis 