Every time I think about death 
My death 
I think about my bedroom 
The one in Boston
I think about 
The hallway 
The hallway closet 
And almost immediately, I let go of the thought, reluctantly

Every time I think about death 
About climbing up to the sky tower 
Putting one leg and then the other over the railing 
And letting it all float away 
My white bed flashes to mind 
My spilling closet 
And again, the thought is discarded

For you see, right now, 
That bed that I love so much 
Is covered by laundry 
Clean, but unfolded 
In a jumble.

Four drawers are open
Spilling their contents out to the floor 
The dresser is a mess, jewelry, receipts, odds and ends everywhere 
Books lie on the window sill, by the TV, floating off shelves 
Stacked up against the walls 
And in the hallway, 
In the hallway sits the clothes I had meant to take to goodwill 
12 months ago

So every time 
Every Monday mornings and Thursday evenings 
And the myriad moments in between 
When I will my flight to fall 
And end it all quickly
End the stress, the futility, the hypocrisy, the sadness
My room floats up, unbidding into my mind

Who would have to go through my stuff? 
And put everything in order? 
Who would finally have proof 
That I really never learned how to keep my house neat?

And so every time I think about putting 
All the laundry away 
And all the clothes to goodwill
I hesitate
And eventually do only some of it

Life may be overwhelming 
And death may beckon
But the thought of the shame, the shame of dying 
Before I figure out what to do with all my journals
That, sometimes 
Is all that keeps me alive