wash the walls and sweep the floors -
cold, like glass by a winter sun
Sit me down in an empty chair
water in my ears and gauze on my tongue -
spent, like air with the window shut
Lay me down in an empty room
wash my skin and comb my hair -
mute, like shadows in my belly,
nowhere to hide.
image by Flickr user M Möller
This month is an older poem I have always liked and which never found another home. It was written after the sudden loss of a role model of mine.
Are folks still reading these? Shall we continue?