Settling In

How I loved
each bare floor, each
naked wall, the shadows on

newly empty halls.
By day, my head humming
to itself of dreams, I cleaned and

scrubbed
to make life
new; dislodging from the corner,

the old
moths and cicadas
pinned to the screen, the carcasses

of grasshoppers
dangling from beams,
and each windowsill's clutter of

dried beetles
and dead bees. But,
through each opening, each closing door,

the old life
returns on six legs, or
spins a musty web as it roosts over

a poison pot, or
descends from above
to drink blood in. This is how it

happens: the
settling in—the press
of wilderness returns to carved-out space, to skin.

Friday, January 9, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: home
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Akhtar Jawad 09 January 2015

A beautiful poem, a nice description of feelings.

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Anil Kumar Panda 09 January 2015

beautiful poem.amazing style.loved it.

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