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“There’s a bobby pin, two receipts, and my mother’s voice trapped in a voicemail I haven’t had the courage to delete. my lipstick sits there too the one I wore the day I didn’t cry. No one asks why I keep a drawer full of matchboxes and apology notes. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I trace the ring mark left by an old mug and imagine it’s a constellation. I tell myself the bedside table is not clutter it’s just the only place I keep remembering to live. Some days, I organize it. Most days, it organizes me.” — Maimoona Abidi
There’s a bobby pin, two receipts,
and my mother’s voice trapped in a voicemail
I haven’t had the courage to delete.
my lipstick sits there too
the one I wore the day I didn’t cry.
No one asks why I keep
a drawer full of matchboxes and apology notes.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep,
I trace the ring mark left by an old mug
and imagine it’s a constellation.
I tell myself the bedside table is not clutter
it’s just the only place I keep remembering
to live.
Some days, I organize it.
Most days, it organizes me.