State of the Bedroom Address: to be read at dinner
by Kathryn Sullivan
(Honorable Mention • Poetry)

I could clean my room, Mom,
But let me explain my mess.

My unmade bed is easier to crawl into
And you are always saying I do not get enough sleep.
If I tucked the sheets and folded the blanket,
If I fluffed the pillow and smoothed the comforter,
I would not want to spoil it.
I wouldn’t sleep
And then you would complain.

The glasses on my bedstand are nearing science,
Worthy of projects in a fair
They remind me to appreciate nature
And the world made of it.
And you are always saying I don’t go outside enough.
If I cleaned the glasses,
If I rinsed their crust,
I would forget the beauty of mother Earth
And then you would complain.

The clothes on the floor outline my escape passage
Like a small replica of a World War II bunker.
You are always saying I don’t exercise enough.
If I hung the coats and folded the shirts,
If I put away the blouses and stashed the socks,
I wouldn’t start my day off with such an active routine
And then you would complain.

But really, Mother,
All the clothes and dishes and unkempt piles of
Everything I’ve ever collected
Remind me of one thing.
I’m not a grown up.
My mess reminds me that I’m still a kid.
There are still things I want to do.
There are still things I want to accomplish.
There is still much I have to learn.
So if I were to clean my room,
I would be too mature
And you are always complaining I am growing up too fast.

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