Here is the sound of
the trolley leaving in the snow,
and the weep of the empty cupboard.
Here is the room of sparse furniture,
thin carpets,
the upright keyboard with
dusty keys and snow
flakes drifting on the balustrades,
chipped paint and faded wallpaper,
solid brass work on the doors.
The world is so small:
A closet, a space behind the stair.
Live where the mice live.
Move only in the dark.
Make no sound.
Wear no face. Flat
mouth, eyes at 500 yards.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I have a friend who hides. He would say that he doesn't but it isn't true. We all hide sometimes. Some hide in the bottom of a glass and others behind their sobriety. Some big people hide by standing in front of a crowd and some small people hide by standing still. So I've been thinking on the nature of it.
Rob wrote this in response to this bit of writing:
Maybe your hiding,,,,,,,and maybe your going to a safe place. I am a firm believer in having a Safe Place. God knows I’ve created many Safe Places, both in my head and externally. But it is always about balance, isn’t it?! My fear is that perhaps I have spent a little too much time in safe places and I have not learned some of the things I need to learn. Writing is helping me to explore this part of my brain – the part that has sought out those safe places at the detriment of learning.
Post a Comment