I am here to cultivate spaciousness

I toss used q-tips in the trash,
shirts that never did fit
and papers, papers, papers:
bank statements
to do lists, dusty birthday cards
never-been-opened yearbooks
broken clothes pins,
maps of the world where africa
and greenland are of equal size
banana peels, day old coffee and cardboard boxes.
I sweep up dust in the halls, wipe out
the microwave, set the dishes out on the
curb with a sign that says, FREE
i trash my skin that binds the heart
my eyes that close
my fear's shrill voice

i am driving across the country
leaving my mother in the pacific ocean
my sister singing jazz at Nic's Martini Lounge
my grandma with her kitchen all a mess
my brother on an airplane
my grandpa in 2 dimensions
my cousins stretched faces and long arms and legs
my friends in cubicles, on buses, on street corners
on freeways, on the 37th floor in the second tallest building,
on dates with people i haven't met

i bring with me two suitcases of books
a teddy bear, a seashell,
and 4 pairs of paints 3 skirts
and shirts i have not counted
my teeth and the cavities in them

and the memory of the man
black skin against
the sunrise above of building and clouds
and the streets littered with palm trees
the felt like a secret too beautiful
to even whisper
and as he pushed his shopping cart full of cans
and i neared my bus stop and I said good
morning and asked him how he was
and he said,
Blessed, blessed to be alive.