Words&Dirt

Attics are awful places,
Teeming with dust, dirt, forgotten faces,
When I enter, bent double, the uncertain floor
Feels false and I want to run
Away.

Such things collected, here and there,
Brought to the edge of narrow spaces
We force our lives through, shafts of light
Betray openings in history that close
In solitary darkness.

Caught in cobwebs, this caustic homewrecker
Barges through space that no longer belongs,
Stumbles through time that no longer gives,
Falls through memories that flare like supernovae
Piercing the attic void.

If I forget these boxes, will they disappear?
If I forget these boxes, will they disappear?
If I switch off the light, will I disappear?

Where does the time go?
We ask, we don’t know.
Where does the time go?
Into the attic.

Give it away. Give it all away.
Watch it go. Mourn it.
Grieve the gross mishandling of your little life,
And let it go.

Attics are awe-full places,
Bursting with life, love, remembered faces,
When I leave, now upright, the recovered floor
Feels firm and I want to step
Forward.