99poems/guilty

And then I feel
guilty, of course,
to feel a low-grade
despair where there
is no justifiable cause,
so I push myself,
always, to make
things better,
to do the right things,
eat the right food,
eliminate whatever
stands between me
and joy.
I push myself to
improve the yard,
my use of time,
my knowledge and
skill of everything
I want in my
life.
I organize the
cookbook, am
ever vigilant
about the build-up
of clutter.
But none of that
is it.
And it, the nameless
thing, looms still,
between me and joy,
like an antique
armoire from my
husband’s side
of the family
that I am not
allowed to get
rid of.

5/25/99