At the end of the year
I began
to make things smaller.
A friends list,
cut back
to the people
with whom I do not need
to explain myself –
family,
old friends,
those who already know
the shape of me.
I stepped away, too,
from a role
I had carried faithfully
without ever quite
belonging to its purpose.
There was nothing wrong
with the work.
Only the quiet knowledge
that time is finite,
and if I am going
to give mine away,
I want to care
where it goes.
Study finished.
No next chapter
waiting neatly
on the desk.
So for now
I am at home,
sorting cupboards,
clearing drawers,
letting go
of the things
that have gathered
without being chosen.
Perhaps that is what
I am doing elsewhere too.
Removing
what no longer fits.
Keeping
what feels true.
Making room
before I know
exactly
what will fill it.
Next month
I begin something new –
a small step
back toward work,
back toward possibility,
back toward a part of myself
that has been waiting.
I do not know yet
where it leads.
For once,
that does not feel
like being lost.
It feels
like space.