Resolution

I am going to
write a poem every morning.
This is my morning poem, written at two
in the afternoon.
The dust of time coats my throat.
My life is reduced to knickknacks, doodads,
useless bits that fill empty cardboard boxes
from the liquor store.
My mother sits broken and teary in the livingroom,
I am helpless.
Disorientation, reorientation,
life in boxes, life in dust, life in mold growing under the bed.
Resolution: I will redefine, I will make it
worth more than the sum of the parts,
the broken necklaces and old PEZ dispensers,
used lightbulbs and empty pens, decks of cards missing
the king of hearts.
Not that he is worth finding anyways,
he always seemed to win the game and leave me
lost.