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.