Poem from last summer
Cupboards of dishes and closets of clothing—
I am weighed down by things.
Bookcases creaking with spine-uncracked still new books
Desk lamps and dusters and duvets galore
Broomsticks and bedsheets and brown paper bags;
No one to sweep for and no one to sleep with
No one to wrap for and no one to weep with
My hurt-heavy heart spilling over to give.
13.vi.2005
I am weighed down by things.
Bookcases creaking with spine-uncracked still new books
Desk lamps and dusters and duvets galore
Broomsticks and bedsheets and brown paper bags;
No one to sweep for and no one to sleep with
No one to wrap for and no one to weep with
My hurt-heavy heart spilling over to give.
13.vi.2005
posted by Chavatzelet Herzliya at 12:14 AM
2 Comments:
What a beautiful poem. The imagery is so perfect—I can picture you standing in your parents' basement, sorting through everything.
I am glad that time is long past.
Will you ever resurrect your "silence 'til the matins toll" poem for me?
You sweep??
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