Piles of thank you cards written

but not yet addressed, stacked and

lurking for weeks on my desk.

Winter clothes washed and folded,

in a green rubber tub

whose plastic lid I cannot find.

Unwritten stories of friends who

come of age amidst Seinfeld episodes, proudly

endorsing a “no learning, no hugging” refrain.

Children’s art projects spilling

out from dresser drawers

awaiting proper display.

Boxes of knick knacks not yet unpacked

from the last time we moved, no longer

worthy of collecting dust on the shelf.

This poem, still lingering

in search of a metaphor to

bring its point home.

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