 |
|
|
|
Floor Never Dusted
by
Emily Strauss |
|
|
| |
The last house on the street overlooked the city’s
midriff: a hollow corpus of denuded beige hills
surrounded by restless traffic, engraved with paths
for cheap motorcycles, camel trains and beggars.
In the spring winds, dust gathered on the naked floors
As cottony balls under the chairs and I never dusted,
Never swept, watched them converge deep in the corners
Crowding like drift ice on a thawing river. I was instead
Obsessed with escaping the locked door, my prison bedroom.
Too far to jump, I sat on the balcony above the desert writing
Naked poems in my ragged notebook, crying, plotting, sleepless
And hungry, begging. Nights I lay on the bare cement, listening
For his footsteps approaching in the hall as the dust collected
Outside, ignoring it each time I was released for more work.
|
--Submitted by ems on 2010-11-19.
|
|
Julianne Carlile:
On further reading, however, I am confused as to what is happening here. Is this a kidnap victim?
Posted 11/20/2010 12:35 PM
|
Julianne Carlile:
Another good one. I loved "crowding like drift ice on a thawing river."
Posted 11/20/2010 05:50 AM
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Contents of this web site and all original text and images therein are copyright © by Your Daily Poem. All rights reserved.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Purchasing books through any poet's Amazon links helps to support Your Daily Poem.
The material on this site may not be copied, reproduced, downloaded, distributed, transmitted, stored, altered, adapted,
or otherwise used in any way without the express written permission of the owner. |
|
My Cart 
