The Moya View

Unpacking



Unpacking

As an old man of seventy
I am uncomfortable
with things too neatly placed away.
I live with the mess and dust
until the cleaning service
comes every third Tuesday.
I do my laundry of sweat pants
and graphic T’s from cruises,
black socks and underwear,
every Sunday between the end of
Meet the Press and the start of Face the Nation,
folding everything just enough
to fit in the drawers without rebellion.
I hate the neatness required
of packing for vacations.

When I was six years old my mother
would watch in weary amusement
as I would spread my plush and clothing
from corner to corner of my bedroom.
The same dinosaur skeletons and fleshy behemoths
she so neatly put away
in the pirate treasure chest
slightly lower than my hips
the day before.
The pine six drawer bureau
taller than my left hand reach
filled with comfortable denims
and Adam West Batman/George Reeves T’s,
all folded in Navy style in parallel rows.

I found joy living
in these dens of shed items,
the unpacking of things that
had no place
inside that bulging suitcase
that my father took with him to Florida
the day he left us behind in the Bayside cold.

Comments

4 responses to “Unpacking”

  1. danayoung500 Avatar

    This is a beautiful, moving, nostalgic, and well written poem

  2. clcouch123 Avatar

    This is good, sad, detailed, draws me in, allows me to add my experience in my head and heart while I am reading. Sorry for the pastiche in form of a response. Your work gives me much about which to think and feel.

  3. syreal Avatar
    syreal

    Love your work. Thanks for your support of mine!
    My favorite part of this one was the kinetic impulse created by the “in the pirate treasure chest / slightly lower than my hips” it brought back memories of plunging into my own toy box as a boy. Much joy!

  4. ritambhari Avatar

    Just read a few of your poems. They leave me feeling you have so much sadness inside you like the “I find joy living in these dens of shed items…” The mystery of life and death, especially death and parting looms large in your life un-accepted, un-embraced, un-healed, un-understood, un-known…when one is sensitive, one’s outer and inner worlds reflect each other…your poems have a melancholy air to them that draws one into your world of bitter-sweet memories and experiences.

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