A Place for Everything
No need to tidy up her best saying.
We knew the rest, brought up on it,
hearing her daily mantra chanted
over tangled dolls or straying shoes,
lost books or socks or satchels; everything
that got away, or didnít, or couldnít
remember where it came from.
She knew the all of it, telling home
how order kept it whole, keeping it capable
and safe. A jar for dinner money, drawer
for scarves and married gloves, the dresser-jugs
plump with their stores of matches, laces, bills;
the rent book hidden underneath her purse
deep in the sideboardís packet-measured space;
defence against disorder, pushing back
the tide continually creeping, coming in.
D A Prince
If you have any comments on this poem, D. A. Prince would
be pleased to hear from you.