The Stash

I’m learning
to imagine
a little stash.

Mine has
maps of places
I have a yen
to see,

stories
I have an itch
to tell,
with oddball,
misfit
characters
I want you to
meet,

lists of
writers and
moviemakers
whose own
quirky
imaginations
I’d love to
sit down with,
on my shady
garden bench,
or my front row
sofa seat.

This stash
has a sacred
purpose:

If I am
being sucked
into the
Black Hole,
you know
the one,
where shame
or alienation
are wrestling you
into
surrender,

your Stash
can be your
lifeboat.

Trust me
on this.

(Photo by Alvaro Serrano, UnSplash)