What happens when

you swing open the french doors

(and slide up the windows)

to the room that is your mind?

You could let the breeze wisp through

the sun coast in

watch the plants come alive.

What happens when

you allow yourself

the dignity of rest

in this place?

Can you imagine:

dumping your worry by the front door

anxieties dropped into the dish with your car keys

phone, wallet, shame — un-pocketed;

setting your feet upon

a familiar sinking ottoman

as you exhale onto

furniture that knows you —

a couch neatly imprinted

with your soul’s backside

who says,

“you’re home,”

with the warmth of crackled fire.

Can you imagine?

Give your mind a break

call that break ‘home’ —

see what forms

in the place of worry

anxieties, shame

which you could set

so cavalierly

so dearly

by the door.


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