Old Poetry

Perhaps in contradiction to my daily quest to give up Perfectionism.... I've been exploring the KonMari Method for organizing the home.

Anyway... I started flipping through old notebooks that I SHOULD throw away, according to MissMari..... And I found this... a zillion little fragments of a poem I was working on that I never fully resolved... but all the little pieces are kind of great.

(read these, accordingly, as fragments and not as one linear piece)

dearest weariest, life 
is much longer than days
and accolades
and ways you fall
and get back up.
life is much bigger than one

dearest weariest darling
this is the edge of time
and all the journeys you have journeyed
gathering up the spices of life and furs and artifacts
of your brilliant search for you
are behind you.

solitary grains of time sand finally trickle 
to an end on a varied youth
world traveler! wild thing! the third meal
demands to be served
the pan in hand says "this is real
life" and the baby says "now me."

Rich Cleopatra, Queen of the East! The sand
of time is heavy in your red wagon
You pull the weight wearily and hold 
this pan. 
Aristotle says things that don't matter
to babies.
And queens are only mothers here.

all life is not you and your life
all journeys are not begun and ended in your steps.