A broomstick, next to a t-shirt, next to a long skirt

Hung behind the door

A sparrow, injured on one leg, tied by the other

Onto the marble floor

Are

Suddenly

In my hands now.

To clean up the mess I had made over the course of

Eighteen years and more

But all I feel like doing is everything but my

Necessary chores,

So

I just stare

At the limp pile.

And I stare and stare, hoping that my eyes will work 

Instead of my hands, and magically pick up

The scraps of my dreams that I broke

And left behind in lands, where maps couldn't reach

My one-man show, for the dead and the unfree 

Dancing with the regretful croaking goals

Breathing in, breathing out, I look around,

My laundry and sparrow, are waiting for me.