piles and piles.
My house is full of them.
Dishes piled in the sink, caked
with food and dried rice, the cheap
sustenance of newlywed students on
a budget. Piles of clothes on the couch, on
the floor, in the laundry basket. The washer is
too small, so the clothes pile up. Piles of books on
the floor that never seem to get put away because they
will only be used the very next day. Seems like the work
just piles up, and the week piles up until the days slow down
on the weekend, when my body flops down onto the couch like
so much spaghetti, trying to muster the energy it takes to clean up
the piles, to put them away, only to watch them pile up again Monday.