The Way It Is
Author: Pondering Red
i hear the muffled sounds of elvis
coming from your doorway
as i walk slowly up the stairs
with a japanese take out in hand.
a string of lit Christmas lights
greets me inside.
i hear the usual hums.
the squeak of the floors,
the constant hiss of the fan.
chopsticks attack the rice,
i observe the patterns of light
from the lampshades,
the design on the rug.
i can't hear my breathing.
maybe i am dead.
moisture slides from the glass window.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Pamela (220.127.116.11) -- Thursday, December 5 2002, 12:36 am|
What a delicious and unique way to approach life. Inspires me in ways I never knew I could be inspired :o)
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