The Cluttered Townhouse

She was a plump woman, says the size of her clothing on a pile of books by the bed a kind woman too, say the Boyds Bears in the cabinet in the living room; and a true mother say the costume patterns cut out and waiting
on the table next to the sewing machine, threaded and ready to go; but not a woman for breaks, say the tables
cluttered with volunteer papers and planning books.

A man lived with her says the living room filled with RC air planes and kitchen counter covered with full cups of coffee, and they had two girls say the fashion magazines all over the floor. Time was scarce, says the clutter in every room and unopened mail on every table, and the winters cold, say the quilts piled high in the hall.
It was lonely in the house, say the closed doors of the upstairs rooms.

Something went right say the bags of junk on the cluttered back porch, ready for Goodwill. Volunteer papers cluttering the table say she was not a woman for breaks; the still full cup of coffee in the kitchen says he found something that needed to be done. And the girls? Their toys cascading out of plastic bags like Niagara falls—an old teddy bear, a glitter-covered Kelly, a dog from childhood’ s past.

Something went right, they say.

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Kelly Wilker is a sophomore at Jemicy School.