Hour Nineteen: A Chamber Full of Chaos
Brass bed, piled high with sheets, dogs, and dog chews,
a mostly-covered vent across to muffle the noise from the studio below,
Picasso’s woman and bird overhanging a cluttered desk,
papers,
books,
bills,
lamp,
iPad,
Laptop,
folders,
and CBD bottles,
black out curtains draping a balcony slider,
two hard cased cellos in the corner by the window,
abutting the shrunken armoire that supports
a pile of books,
sound machine,
lamp,
and journals,
behind the chair that faces
the music stand, Bach’s “Arioso” open, sitting atop a limp bow,
and to the right is the green whitewashed wooden dresser,
sporting
candles,
ceramic boxes my mother made for me as a child,
sage,
Paolo Santo,
a yogini tea light burner,
and essential oils,
atop and adjacent to the closet,
white panels, white walls, white Picasso,
brass,
wood,
and metal,
this is where I sleep, play, pray, and work.