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I spent the whole day cleaning, and culling. Feels good to get rid of stuff. This is the spring cleaning I never got around to this spring. Culling the toys today was a cathartic thing. And a dirty thing. There’s something to this disappearance. I’m going to write a poem about it fast, so I can take a shower.


There is something about separating out the baby toys from the horses, something to the disappearance of former projects, there is something to the new-found precious. These worlds of make-believe, these universes made of plastic and terry, each benighted with a world of its own, each toy has its own paradise, I remember and imagine. Every world I chose to discard today has its own orbit, big and dark and widespread, the galaxy of dolls and parts and costumes and blocks and debris. There is something in the disappearance, something that allows for peace in juxtaposition to chaos. The invisible chest, one of our imagining, the chest that holds it all, will be all magnets and birdsong, like a myth of our disappearance, holds it all like a myth, just like a mythbox.


Happy Saturday, poemfriends. I hope you all have had to cull and clean this month. Get Rid of It! That’s my new motto.