(from Within My Illusions)
I started in the garage—
easy enough to clear the space where five-year-old paint waited to be taken to waste recovery.
Into the closet, sorting socks
and scarves and shirts,
and finding joy in the growing pile of items to give away.
Books challenged me
to examine where I’ve been
and where I’m going
and how much weight I want to carry.
I made gifts of long-lost treasures found in forgotten crannies and nooks,
passing along stories with the tokens,
as though curating the artifacts of my life.
A stack of paper gives me pause:
If I release my attachment
to everything that has wounded me, then who will I be?
And I think, how courageous the tree, to let go of all its leaves and trust.