HONEY AND DUST

Honey and dust

I need a blank slate – a white sheet
some breathing space in this bloody place
exhume me from the myriad crap I’ve kept
that now keeps me crippled.

In my bedside drawer:
a USB hub – with four ports
an empty moisturiser pot (no lid)
three 1.5V D batteries
a plectrum, a Sharpie, some arch supports
a plastic pot of stripey paperclips
a small trophy I won in 2015
my fear of dying unfulfilled.

On top of the chest of drawers:
a dusty jewellery box filled with unworn tat
blister packs of medicine for the cat
sample pots of paint we tested last year
a box of toe separators
deodorant, Polyfilla
nail clippers and hair grips
all petrified under accumulating ash
of skin and fur and there,
in the crushed purple velvet bag
lurks my laziness, gloating in the dark.

In the medicine cupboard
you’ll find our Pain
and how we tried to soothe it
old pills and creams (most untaken)
expired prescription medication
mother-in law pushed on us
anti-depressants he didn’t take
codeine and paracetamol I do
ancient vitamins and evening primrose oil
for my tender breasts.
Our disconnection.

In the kitchen, under hundreds of spice jars
shelves sticky with honey and dust
I must wipe them white
allow the light to penetrate 
eliminate the clutter
(no dead drosophila 
encrusting the extractor)
only keep what matters
find a new way of controlling things

by letting them go.

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Not really in the mood for defining myself.

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