Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Why is it that I truly feel 
if you step inside my messy house
you see inside my messy soul?
Clothes strewn about
translate into my issues on never being warm enough
no, cold enough - or, I mean, finding that happy medium
Last night's dishes still in the sink
translate into my yet undigested thoughts
on last night's conversation
and those flowers, dead I might add,
in the vase on the counter,
translate into a well wisher that I simply haven't thanked.
Why is it that you must see all of this?
A cluttered room is a cluttered mind?
Could that be my philosophy in your knowing eyes?
Whatever the case, you know me so well
I open my door with wide open arms
and then the miraculous happening occurs.
You pick up my clothes, I'm suddenly comfortable.
You make me some coffee and wash up my dishes
and last night's conversation settles in my stomach 
with clear understanding and ease
and you throw the flowers out the back door, wash the vase
(now mineral deposit stained opaque)
and hand me the phone with a soapy hand to make a thank you call.
Is it really that I just needed a little tender care?
Could that be the secret to an organized existence?
For, suddenly, I am free. 
Spotless house, spotless mind
-a new philosophy-
and I find I owe you for this Spring cleaning yet again...

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