Here we are, years after trying to give shape to our desires— Here we are in the middle of the room, and that woman on the internet is singing in praise of the uncluttered, hugging needle- point pillows to her bosom before throwing them away. Unloved or unlovely, she says you can hire one of her certified consultants to help tidy your home for a fee. But it's the journalist on the late night show I can't stop thinking about— how she held up both arms as if locked arm-in-arm with another, how she talked of what it means to hold the line, not give in to darkness after darkness dropping around us like bombs every day. How we should be careful not to surrender our birthright to that dream republic where we won't be sad there will be more books than we could ever finish reading and where, looking up, we might grab a poem/ fluttering from the sky,/ blinded by weeping.
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