poem, untitled

[flamingsword]

I am tired,
I think
of postcards, season’s greetings, mementos.
I will put by the way
scented candles, pot holders and cozy household touches
that mean little to me, having grown so tired.
Do I need this poster? That lamp? A box of papers five years out of date?
I feel ill to think of how much the whims of the past sway me presently, and I am sea-sick and tired.

I am tired.
Let’s see if we can throw
being tired away,
too.