of words unsaid

I whispered sorry

to a stone.


The crisp of leaves

scoffed at my penance

when I walked away


I have become a permanent fixture.

No longer seen. Ignored.  Like the breath in your chest,

I’ll be unnoticed until I am gone.

Yes–I’m an old coat rack, a hall tree with deep

diverging roots beneath this splintered wooden floor;

hairline fractures  mapping out and making a break

for freedom, covertly inching away , searching

for an oasis in the compacted backfill

that formed the foundation of this lonely house.

But there is no leaving.

The mud I carried in on the heels of my boots

Made fast friends with the companionless dust on this cold floor,

Made of the same stuff from a different beginning,

evidence of my past missteps mingling

with the consequence of your inertia and dead space.

Rooted and glued now. Unable to move for fear

of dying, for fear of uprooting the only home you have known.

And so here I will stay. Silent.  Unblinking.

And tomorrow—

and every tomorrow–

I will be here, strangled by scarves, aching

under the weight of your plans for rainy days.

And I will watch you

pass me by, toss your hair

and walk out the door.


into the sun.