Is there a true here to now?
How long is now allotted?
Could I be lost between the
walls of now, unknowingly?
Is here a place? Sounds find
shadowed corners and stay.
The furniture of yesterday
awakes before I do to settle
into its same crop circle of
The same faces in
the popcorn ceiling
remain like old friends.
Place like a
still life of memory.
And what place am I?
I too am made of walls, after all.
I am admittedly carpeted appropriately
I am a room inside of a larger room undoubtedly,
and undoubtedly that bigger room is somewhat
the blueprint of the room I am.
But also, do I not wander?
This room I am in is quite large
from my vantage point.
There are vast halls within it
brimming with the life of other rooms,
lighting up the night with eyes like old lamps.
Each room a still life of its own memories,
formed in the shadow of the lamp-lit eyes of others.
So, what place shadows onto me?
Am I a bedroom/house/
How many shadows
have been placed upon me?
What light could I hope to provide in their dim?
Is there shine the right shine I wish to add to?
When you look upon me,
what place do you see?
Because when I look upon you,
I wish to see the place you have become
in spite of your place as well as in its resonance.
It is a rare room that hasn’t had furniture
brought in and out of it,
and it is a rarer room yet
that has not space enough for movement.
It is movement after all,
that allows us the great grace of becoming
more of the room that we hold
in the dearest chambers
of our hearts.
day 2 of #nationalpoetrymonth | cover image: steinart.no