The Open Write for Ethical ELA is happening this week and Tuesday was the first day I had time to attend. The prompt came from Rex. He asked us to write about our junk drawers. I opened the response box and typed, skipping the notebook and revision. A quick write, just.do.it response. This is what I got.
Junk Drawer
I forgot another password
so I turned to the all knowing
drawer of junk to locate
the secret notebook.My hand got stuck on
the safety scissors, not so safe,
and ruffled a roll of tape,
plastic container of paper clips.Where did all this stuff come from?
We’ve stuffed it full and fuller
until whole hours are lost
in Emory boards, stapler, and hole punch.The password itself brought a tear
of grief for my sweet Charlie.
(I’ve heard you shouldn’t use pet names.)
Buried in the junk is the purest love.
Reflections on the Teche 
Margaret, I read this earlier in the week, and even reading it again it still brings that little heartbeat skip of sadness and think of all the purest love that is in all the places, including the deepest recesses of the junk drawer.
Your post about junk drawers is very relatable; however, it is your password finding twist at the end that makes this poem special and memorable.
Good reminder that sometimes those just.do.it. responses unlock goldmines.
Almost completely unrelated…a local dry cleaners’ sign always has a groan-worthy pun posted. The other day, I saw this: “My password is beef stew, it’s not stroganoff.”
I liked the sound of this prompt, but haven’t had a chance to try it out yet. Your poem is so memorable, especially that final stanza. You managed to build in so much context without just saying it. And, oh, the buried love! Perfect!
Margaret, what a precious Charlie story. I love seeing your junk drawer. I like that word buried for the multiple images that come up when I read your last stanza.
I love the way you capture the whimsy and the collected-ness of the junk drawer. Until whole hours are lost… my favorite line!