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."
