The Clean Sweep

The Clean Sweep

I use boxes for a clean sweep
because the house has narrowed
into sentimental objects.
From my foyer view, the stairs,
are coming and going.
There is a robin trapped,
fluttering in the fireplace,
and a black snake skin
abandoned in the basement.
A little key of movement
unlocks all the doors
and I haul the catharsis couch
out into the open air.
When I unbutton the rooms,
objects spill like milk breasts.
I can no longer remember
what I loved and why.
It is a brooding question
that I should know,
the answer to from long ago.
I am searching for corners
and clear boundaries.
Somewhere beyond the boxes,
there must be walls.
If I can see them in their entirety,
I can measure the space
of where I am, and where to paint,
this new moment.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

The piece is chock-a-block with unusual imagery--there is a "catharsis couch", rooms are things you "unbutton", spilling things like "milk breasts". On the face of it, such things shouldn't make sense--but, in context, they work perfectly. This is something that does not-- indeed, cannot-- happen by accident; it requires unusual skill and, every bit as important, clear and precise insight into the human condition. That, and more, is all over this piece.

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Phibby,

You sure know how to write about the feeling of entrapment in a mundane life in dire need of fresh paint. You seem so captured like the robin in the fireplace and abandoned like the snake skin in the basement.

I hope you rise above these lost feelings and finally reach a place of contentment.

Again, another very well done poem.

Best regards,

Rick

[Donald Meikle]

Why am I here? how did I get here? I think I'll write a poem! Phib you are as amazing as always.

[Ed Hart]

a lady in waiting perhaps, but not idle...a true poet is one who keeps the fires going...the muses like that...ed

[Emily B]

This poem is a poster child for that special quality you paint a poem with. . . the unusual becomes quite extraordinary under your knowing care.