Within a week dust fell
Upon the shoulders of
A timepiece.
An enormous shell.
An empty show box.
My well-worn rag is green
And pushed against fine things –
And table legs.
Hallway rails.
Vacant chair arms.
In the hallway -step-step
Then skip my hearts beat.
Ragged door.
Behind its wall
No voice of reason.
Within these weeks dust fell
Upon each mountain object.
Wipe the clock.
Turn and place
My fingers round the doorknob.
The old rag fallen carelessly, sleeps.
Beat Beat -this life pumps –
The door cracked –
My life’s unreason
Stands waiting.
Shelley Rae Bell
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