The Cupboard Under the Stairs

A place for everything,
for everything, a place,
but under the stairs,
it’s a mind-trash space –

memories secreted in dark, spidered nooks,
neurons rutted like well-thumbed books,
moody film-noir dendritic ends,
space-junk synapses, axonic strands,
dust-choked engrams, dreams, nightmares –

time to springclean under the stairs.

38 thoughts on “The Cupboard Under the Stairs

  1. Oh. BB, HAHA! – If I had a pound for every space like that, I would be a very rich man.
    I built a cupboard under our stairs, but it is not quite such a rats’ nest as some of my other places! But how many chords you struck with me.

  2. Lovely – and a great reminder – my cupboard under the stairs currently has a recycled bag mountain range – good reminder to do some sorting πŸ™‚

  3. Rutted neurons – that’s just what it feels like! I guess spring in Australia is a time of great creativity and productivity – you are simply popping with ideas. Love this poem and the image.

    • Thanks, Monica πŸ˜€ That image of my brain gives no clue as to the clutter that lies within – the mind is a complete mystery. I’ve just finished ‘The Sense of an Ending’ by Julian Barnes, and in it the protagonist talks about how, suddenly, after years of living with a stable set of memories, new ones or new details start to pop up, a phenomenon that is instanly recognisable to me. Time, it seems, can have the opposite effect of making one forget.

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