A trite signature on an email the other day
cautioned against maintaining a house full of clutter,
mandating that I remove anything that wasn’t useful or beautiful.
If I were to heed this worldly sage
I know that you would not be pleased
for I would remove the glasses (including those remaining Spiegalaus I haven’t broken)
and you would have to drink from the faucet or the carton.
I would heave our laptops from our window and reluctantly whisper a wish that they didn’t strike the dog of Mr. Late Night Phone Talker downstairs.
You would have nary a chopstick to poke at food, nor a small spoon to slurp your soup.
There would be no chair to sit, no bed to sleep, no closet to hang your assortment of Adidas running clothes, nor thousands of futuristic jogging shoes for that matter.
There would only be you.