A sweater
once neatly folded
now crumpled
on the wood floor–
grey clouds
through the trees (where
a drying garment
also hung, last night)
but no downpour;
what storms are predicted
pass unnoticed
and don’t bother worrying
about the lost landscapes–
or the clothes on shelves
once worn, now alone…
Just get up and go
to the drawer
get the old knife
and begin trimming;
add hope, cut
the expectations back
where they belong
and pick up that sweater
fold it neatly, four times
and find it a home
in the closet–
your mother was wrong
about you being
lazy.