Poem Inspired by Decluttering
by Alison Stone
Marie Kondo says our things should spark joy.
Make hay in the sunlight. In the dark, joy.
As the drowning cried out, did Noah and
his wife feel guilt or, safe on the ark, joy?
Poe’s raven’s stuck repeating, Nevermore.
The warbler trills longing; the skylark, joy.
Love’s first flush. We kiss in bedrooms, on boats,
near marble generals in the park. Joy,
ours and the world’s, spilling everywhere. Trees
weighed down with blossoms. Cats purr, dogs bark joy.
The felled elephant’s body triggers grief.
The lighting’s zag, fear. The rainbow’s arc, joy.
We overspend and fight about coffee
cup designs. Christmas used to mean, Hark! Joy.
The child’s rambunctious delight. The teen’s
hormone-driven pleasure. The monk’s stark joy.
Worry leaves dark circles. Despair, grey hair
and awkward smiles. Why no mark from joy?
Bottomless CEO’s grab and grab. Stock,
land, water. Soon they’ll try to trademark joy.
Once-abused women take their scarred bodies,
pack away memories. Embark on joy.
Aren’t you bored, Alison, with black clothes and
practiced angst? Why not try, for a lark, joy?
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