☀ Today's Poem: "Private Uncertainty" Peter Leight

It's okay you're not interrupting anything,

I'm opening all the windows,

sticking in my earbuds and listening to open up the windows and let
        the bad air out,

opening up my handbag

and taking everything out,

opening my hands and spreading my fingers like the branches of an
      asterisk,

I'm not even sure what I need to admit.

Sometimes I stand in the middle of the room,

reaching up as if there's something on the top shelf I can only touch
        with the tips of my fingers,

or lifting it up,

I don't know if it's better to leave it up there

or take it down.

It's not in the way.

When I don't want to look at something I put it somewhere

where I won't find it,

I mean the only secrets I have are the ones I don't know anything about.

I often walk around in my room

or move from room to room,

picking things up

in order to decide whether to put them down,

I haven't actually decided.

I'm not sure if I'm not in the mood.

I'm not even sure what needs to be neglected,

it isn't a weakness,

not at all,

it reminds me of the paintings of Edouard Vuillard in which women
        in delicately patterned dresses

collapse into the painted

or papered walls,

as if they're not even separate from the rooms they're in.

They're not in anybody's way.

I'm rubbing my eyes in case there's something there, a screen or
        something that needs to be cleaned,

smoothing the undersides of my arms

until they're really smooth,

I think I'll step into the mirror

to see what nobody else is looking at,

I don't want you to think I don't care about things because nobody
        else does.