Clutter

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.