Carpet Feelings

The memories attached to items in this home

take up space I don’t want to hold.

Where do these thoughts live when not provoked

to the forefront of my mind?

Do they lie in limbo, awaiting their turn to surface—

like the trauma that awakens with a scent,

or a touch unwarranted?

A full head is heavy on these shoulders.

Sometimes I wish it were empty—

like being in a new city, or staying in a nice hotel:

with a sidewalk to be walked on; a bed made for rest.

But would it be lonely, looking at a carpet

and not thinking of you?

Every part of me is shaped by your influence,

the way I cook, clean, take care of myself.

I know I can’t cleanse my mind of that remembrance.

Instead, I’ll take this carpet on my adventures—

until your memory is a kind reminder of a life lived,

not a person I’ve lost.