She wonders and wanders
across corridors and closets
as she contemplates
the differences in her spirit.
In one pile sits her curiosity
perched on the bed like a bouncy puppy
awaiting only a word, a permission,
to go warbling about the premises.
Tail wagging his bottom, like a gleeful flag.
In another pile sits her intellect
figuring and fragmenting,
coming closer to the computer
with each new edition.
Bytes and bits of something
twinkling within it’s folding.
In the brightest pile goes affection
(creativity defected the curiosity pile
and has come to hug the Matthew sweaters.)
With splashes and giggles, this pile has the wiggles
and the somewhat tentative parts
that stood about the fringes
got sucked firmly in by the Clendon family trousers,
never to be a lonely sock again.
The other notable pile is depression.
He slunk down under the bed
(there are only a few articles left there
and that made him..well depressed.)
He knows his days are numbered
knows just what clothes she will give away
and what clothes will become antique treasures.