So much we try to stuff
Into those first two decades
All the pieces crowd together
Weight of one crushing another,
Mechanisms unable to turn freely.

Clarity begins to emerge in the next.
Mostly we spend it unpacking, making space
Among those things we stuffed
Into fragile, hastily-made trunks
That weighed so heavily upon our backs.

Later, the mechanisms run more smoothly
Their functions more easily seen, understood.
We learned what to keep.
And smiled as we left items behind
That we had never really needed at all.

Our collections seemed so unique,
And we never stopped to notice
The poorly made,
The mass produced.
The weight of it all.

Later we add selectively.
We invest time in the trunk, not the cargo.
Greatest become the things we share.
We enjoy the spaces
Between the things
More than the things
Themselves.