Sorting thru boxes in the basement
I find random, scattered remnants
things I thought were important
crammed into unmarked containers
the notebook I used to keep track
of the times I nursed my first baby
sleep deprived scribblings
evidence of a mother’s nervous dedication
keep
the childhood rock collection
in a scratched plastic box
purchased with my own money
from a vacation gift shop
keep
the cards I bought but never sent
misplaced when they were needed
people absent from my life now
no longer worth saving
discard
these bits and pieces are like lines on a map
the road leads to a place of order
but I am lost amongst the stories
and don’t want to find my way just yet
