hanging laundry
trapped on an island
so much to be aware and not
I have hung out my laundry
all my laundry
everything is laundry

I have so many pieces of laundry to sort and fold
everywhere I turn is laundry

the island is made up of things
laundered and put away
I wish my laundry would come presorted 
and folded 
into tightly neatly packs 
of information
that I could peruse
like a well-stocked 
organized library

but it's not 
my brain is disheveled
as though a cyclone hit the harbor
and all its occupants
can't decide where to begin
to fix and heal
all this matter
I have tossed its way

into the beyond
my ship has sailed and run aground
in the land of plenty
 and lost

%d bloggers like this: