This week has been rough on my writing–both my younger son and I have had a cold, which left me exhausted at the end of each day. I did write Day 16 on Monday, but was so tired by the end of the day that I couldn’t bring myself to fire up my laptop and post it. So here it is today, with subsequent catch-up poems to come in future posts!
THE HALLWAY
She is a walking memory
embedded in dust. A scratch
in a wood floor. A held breath.
She passes the doorway
in dignified procession, hands folded,
no heavier than a dust mote’s footstep.
What draws her here,
even in daylight
when other wisps have spent themselves
and retired to debris? What story casts her
to walk this hallway
in only one direction
like a message in a closed bottle?
Issa M. Lewis 