Sadland

I liked it and often used it,

yet I gave it away.

Then I realized I loved it.

I was moving

the fourth time in six years

so many damn possessions

every object more work.

Now there’s not enough,

Just the knee-deep clutter of Sadland.

The Lucite tray

with the black horse

and yellow sun

and blue checkered accents

could have been designed by an 8th grader

it was whimsical and cute

unmarred by sophistication

My mom bought it at the National Western Stock Show

which we went to most years 

My parents would meet me when I lived in Denver

from their vacation home in Aspen.

I had parents then

My mom

and my dad

My God, what riches!

That tray reminded me of my times with them,

of my mom’s love of horses

of her ability to pick meaningful objects that suited her

and us

when everyone else in my parents’ income bracket,

was buying expensive designer junk

I really liked that tray,

but somehow rationalized I shouldn’t

and I gave it away

before my mother died

there’s no way

I would have done so after

I know that now.

When there is nothing you can do

about your fucked up, flailing failures

and nowhere left to go

after your wistful, wasted wanderings

it’s easy to wander into the always open doors

of Sadland.

When Sweet Home Alabama

comes on your playlist

and you want to dance

God, you want to dance!

but you can’t

ever,

because where do people your age go to dance?

And would you be brave enough to go there if you knew?

So you can dance in your living room

or in your mind

But either way, you’re dancing

on the miles of glossy, empty floors

of Sadland.

Sadland’s seems soft

the way clouds are perceived

but inside

rage violent storms of regret.

Get out

Get out while you can!

Make radically right decisions

Dream daringly

Act accordingly

Face forward

Death isn’t there

Death lies in all your lazy lapses

into Sadland.