Continuing my plan to write a poem a day for the rest of April, I have another poem. Again, the entire thing was written in 10 minutes, including what editing and formatting I could spare. As I said in that previous post, I am going to try different styles and themes throughout, and so this one is about the way the walls of an apartment define us and the rest of the world, but also how they do not. Boundaries are largely arbitrary.
"Dry Wall"
Dry wall rooms around the square,
the shape of home filled with homely things
and the scent of time spent here, living life,
opening doors and windows, closing off hours,
contemplating the outside
and the sounds you hear,
of people walking,
of trees being,
of wind breathing,
of water and the rain and the nighttime sound of sighing
as all the world wonders about itself and decides,
finally,
to collapse into another day,
eventually.
Dry wall, hung with art and posters,
hung with stains and nails,
hung with care and forgotten,
besides as a demarcation of
this versus there.
The inside of a sort,
a line drawn in definition,
a defining moment of stillness
In the act of motion.
Dry wall, off white bleeding into gray,
a gentle taupe,
a sprinkling of afterthought
across a sea of carpet,
across the minutes of quiet,
fading into the loud shouts of silence
around the known,
the unknown behind,
and memories are just another name
for the things they witness.
