Bogged down, as one gets
with a mind that finds
too many categories,
the files pile up,
the scraps of paper
on the kitchen table
that don’t seem to know
their place,
or how to get there.
I have told myself:
Expand the categories.
I have moved things
from notebooks
to files,
to notebooks again.
I tell myself
I need more space,
I tell myself:
I need less stuff,
I tell myself
“Deal with it right away,”
repeat the adage
“Handle it once.”
I cancel mail,
I try to limit my interests,
curtail activity.
I spend decades
seeking focus,
though it goes
against my nature,
which tributaries
like a river,
seeking new ground.

It’s just the confusion
that comes from piles,
the obstructed path
to thought or creativity,
there must be something
I can do.

Perhaps a credenza
is the answer,
such a glamorous word
does not sound like
something in my house.
Would my husband come home
if I owned such a thing?

Tables, perhaps.
Narrow ones to take
the overflow,
large ones where projects
can spread out.

A painter I know
has one that is
an eight foot square –
well, now we’re
getting there.