In my new home at Simpson House

 

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In my new home at Simpson House by Susan Chast

The apartment floor holds reds and browns right by the entrance,
which then blend with blue and tan in the carpet, and lead back
to hues of brown, navy, and turquoise in bedroom and bathroom.
The walls hold landscapes and still lifes in living space,
trees and flowers in bedroom, and waves in bathroom.

It's quiet, relaxing.
 I wake with wildlife, then float up to the coffee maker and cat food.
Panther kitty greets me with purrs and headbutts. She tilts her head
questioning me, “What’s taking so long?” and then weaves between my legs.
I cannot move without hurting her, and so push back at her with the pressure
of a headbutt while opening a can of wet food, a language she speaks.

I am happy.  But
In a space that represents down-sizing, my home is stuffed to the ceiling
with books, knickknacks, plants, art supplies, dishes and pot holders.
I rarely open the stuffed files or China or kitchen cabinets,
and hardly know what’s in them.  The objects I kept illustrate neither
rhyme nor reason—just love and the thought “I may need this someday.”

I rest in the air of too much, then
 I imagine leaving it all, leaving home, a reality in Haiti, Ukraine, Gaza,
Afghanistan, etc., and a reality at closed borders everywhere.  Could I downsize 
to the clothes on my back?  Downsize with an escape sack by the door,
light enough to carry.  Downsize keeping only what I touched this year.
Then let go of electronics, art, and mementos. All are possible.

 Yet, let me add instead of subtracting.  What objects would make anywhere home?  the space would have a bed and blanket, books, a phone, writing supplies, bread, a knife, apples, 
and hunks of sharp cheddar cheese.  Walls and roof for shelter.
Home objects would build warmth, wisdom, writing, outreach, and food.
Add a few glasses and chairs for guests and fresh water.  I would be content, rested.

I am content and rested, surrounded by a good life.
 So what about the excess stuff in my new home?  I'll use the things, if possible,
in the way of found objects and improvisation, welcoming a life of collage
and surprise—until I can recycle them, every last piece.  My new home
provides space for conversation, comradery, and transformation—a haven 
for me in my journey toward wholeness, 'til death do us part.

I am content.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2024 Susan L. Chast

And a word from Mary Oliver:

Storage

When I moved from

one house to another,

there were many things

I had no room for.

What does one do?

I rented a storage space

and filled it.

Years passed.

Occasionally,

I went there

and looked in,

but nothing happened,

not a single twinge

of the heart.

As I grew older

the things I cared about

grew fewer but were

more important,

so one day I undid the lock

and called the trash man.

He took everything.

I felt like the little donkey

when his burden is finally

lifted.

Things! Burn them, burn them!

Make a beautiful fire!

More room in your heart

for Love, for the trees.

For the birds who own

nothing;

the reason they

can fly.