The Backpack Press

I have become a hermit.

I loved the lockdown, the shelter in place.

I found that masking pleased me,

And avoiding crowded places

Came natural to me.

I’m not much of a baker, so

I started by organizing things.

Like-objects in one place.

All the colorful paper clips,

Empty notebooks, pens

All going the same way in the plastic box,

All my pencils,

Freshly sharpened, of course.

I wanted to be useful, so I learned to crochet,

But it didn’t suit me.

Maybe it was being useful

That didn’t suit me.

I ordered in because

I was comfortable with it, after living in New York.

Every Thursday, a new basket of food.

I even tried senior shopping

But the sight of all those frightened old people

Wasn’t sustainable.

I didn’t go back.

Then I started tidying seriously,

Lingering over the things that used to spark joy

Before throwing them away.

It’s only now I can speak about it.

I’ve become a hermit.

Tidying is a way of life,

A manner of being.

I’ve told everyone

I need to control my environment,

So I stick to my new routine of tidying

And it takes the place of accomplishing.

The dishes are all clean, the yard is all clean,

The garage is all clean,

The basement is all clean.

I’ve cleaned the closets again and again.

I make the bed.

I throw out more paper,

Give more things away.

All of my yarn is sorted by color now,

Like my paper clips.

All the hangers face the same way in the closet,

All the coffee cup handles in the cupboard.

If I sort out the small things,

Maybe the big things will not matter as much.

I’ve found that there are not a lot of big things

To a hermit.