Writing Space
Oh the usual mundane decorations
A desk, a chair, a writing tablet
Dust, papers, and a ticking clock
Me…a particle, empty pulp, and passing
I have insisted that it travel with me
Snapshots of captured moments cry out
Piles of tasks wait for attention
Shelves of guidebooks whisper
A charm of luck tipped on its side
An elephant with beads too heavy
A silent box of stained cherry
That grinds of masquerades when opened
A stolen emblem from my first taste of freedom
One of the few parts left untouched in the wreckage
The smooth lime radio that must warm up to be heard
It crackles, hums, and echoes
The images that remind of me
Have no faces
I have never noticed that before
Father, brother, husband, daughter…they all have faces
A memory, a reminder, a revelation
Books on healing, awakening, and death
A stapler and its nemesis on different shelves
Permanent and dry erase markers dangerously commingle
How long has that drawer been open?
sometimesihatemycat 