Saturday, September 17, 2011


Her head clouds up when she  
forages through articles, clippings,
saved notes,  cards and invitations.
If she doesn’t have time now, to review
all these articles and incidentals, then
when?  Ever?  Is it all a back-up drive—
a server of saved articles, humor, and
inspiration that, once retrieved, will
revive that previous laugh, that earlier
smile, the sensibilities of the younger
version of her—of she, who spotted
and tore from newspaper or magazine
something that spoke to her.  In some
newspaperless future, will these scraps
from past journalists make any sense?
Every breathing week, she fully intends
to bear down on her burgeoning clutter—
to sort for recycling, or trash all the
remnants of what once was her life--
that which now hangs on like
paparazzi to an aging former
starlet, waiting for the end.

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