I have been inspired by Kimberly to explore poetic forms, and this piece is different from most of my writing. The narrator is a woman evaluating her decisions and contemplating change.
A soft drip from the upstairs pipe
is weakening my ceiling. And
behind the plaster of these walls,
the wood is aging in the dark.
And buried in the cabinets,
the baking pan is caked with crumbs.
The floor is soft, like spoiled fruit
unused but past its usefulness.
So many things I have ignored
in hours or days, I thought,
or weeks, I would repair them but
instead they waited months or years,
like dying trees in public parks
or beaches stripped of shells and sand
or lonely birds who perch on rocks,
as seasons changed and years rolled by like cars.
But I can feel a coming change
that seeps in through the window gaps,
and waits behind the closet walls,
and comes in vapors through the pipes,
and streaks the sky in rose and gold.
Another chance to start again
to leave the old things on the ground
to walk out of the room and close the door.