December 22, 2015

order

It is easy to scold the boys for leaving yogurt cups
in their bathroom trash, rail at the mold that appears after weeks
of neglect, scan the surfaces for further evidence of the damage
their adolescence wreaks on this house. How quickly my yearning for order
consumes the wild fire of their innocence, and I forget - ticking off their growing
list of blunders - that they are fumbling, like I did, through a hazy maze of instructions
absent of a photo of the final product. Even now, past the rigors of those early pages,
I am wondering if I've read everything correctly.  There are new bolts missing,
certain tools not included in the box, and days when I stash my own distress
behind a closed door, hoping no one can find it, or that everyone will.