poems & stories of
JIM HAY

Room Enough

living in a rooming house in Eugene
 
˙

Faded drapes hang down
a disgrace to the weaver’s task
Unraveling threads pierce the dust
and any light that tries to pass

Windows painted tightly shut
dirty glass smears the view
In this room of no todays
night is the only hue

Plaster walls a map to nowhere
cracks spread out, return, and cross
Travelers long gone who followed these paths
given up, turned back, or lost

Enough room or room enough
no one stays too long
For when the breath is swallowed up
so too is the song

Only flies are here right now
stacked upon the floor
An abacus to counting days
they could not find the door

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© 1995-2018 JIM HAY
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Last updated on 04 Jan, 2018