I'm a woman
And so it is time to clean.
I start by
sweeping out the cobwebs
that linger around my heart
Then prise out the dust-mice dreams
(some hiding stubbornly)
from beneath the cortex
and watch as they dissolve in daylight.
I gather the dopamine hits of fragmented messages
Lined up like dirty shot glasses
And scrub at the ground-in stains of digital detritus
Moving it all to a box marked Trash.
"Tip 2. Keep only what you need; the rest can find a new home."
I sort the memories into piles
Some no longer fit
Or fell from fashion years ago
No charity shop will take them
With their 'flammable' labels
(But a few I'll save
to show my daughter
when she's old enough to understand).
I touch up the paint
on my face
Polish my skin
Straighten the soft furnishing of my hair
And work til the fresh blank life
Feels clean and clear as the last snowfall of winter.