The Crowded Desk Poem by Jenny Kalahar

The crowded desk at which I feel I'm chained
is a type of oak, compressed and stained
and stained again with rings from cups
from which I spilled and would not clean up

Its drawers are full—a final resting place
for pens dried long ago, and remedies I thought would work
to clear a cough, earache, or rumbled stomach
a coffin for throat spray colored to resemble wine
a casket for cassettes I won't rewind
a tomb for empty hand cream jars
and pepper packs and Matchbox cars

There you'll find old coins half-stuck
and scraps of paper with lines for poems
and leaks from polish for my nails
and last year's lilac blooms gone brown
a white ribbon from my wedding gown

A crowded desk laden with books
And sheet music I never give a look
and mistakenly-printed papers I mean to reuse
for notes for novels I may never re-peruse

This fine desk will hold all I ask
Its strength unequaled to the task
I've never found the time to clear it
and only find sweet words to endear it—
This desk has lived beside me like a saint.
Who else would hold so much without complaint?