Cupboard

Cupboard

by Helen Barter

I am drowning in stuff, and

it makes my mission impossible.

Just living a life

is an insurmountable effort, if

I can't get from A to B.

Displaying my stuff in the window means

I can't close the curtains

without knocking things over;

The kitchen is an uncharted deep, dark cavern

beginning to grow mould on mould

and even getting into the bathroom

is a nightmare.

I clear a space, for me,

in my small corner.

Large enough to sit.

A kennel for my black dog.

I can make my life in that small corner,

showing the world my 'happy head'

still unable to light a life

with my own dim candle.

I'll come out when it's all over.

There are too many obstacles.

There is too much mess.

It is too hard

to take that

one

small

step, again,

and again, and again . . .

let alone

the

giant

leap

required

to hurdle the piles and piles of clutter.

"Release your tight grip on that candle-end

and allow the world to warm your cold, numb fingers.

It's ok to kick and spit and fight.

But not with yourself.

Not by yourself.

You are not Old Mother Hubbard

The dog may still hold the leash but

it is not your master."