Soon I’ll clear the cobwebs out of my mind. They’re softening the corners, white and frail, sagging a little, cradling dead flies. In a little while I’ll find a broom and I’ll sweep the floor, leaving clean boards in my wake and shuffling dust into a pile. Puffs will rise from it like smoke. The wood will be smooth and my feet will touch the floor without prickles or grit. Before too long I will organize. Everything will be on the floor and I will put it back where it belongs, some things stacked neatly in the cabinets and others in a row on the shelves. There will be room to stretch my arms as far as my muscles will allow. My fingertips will not graze the piles that rise, teetering, threatening. Soon I will tidy up my mind. For now I will live with the clutter.


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