I knew the house at knee-level
as openings and closings,
propelled my self across linoleum
toward spaces my arms could span.
The dining table was roof and walls,
was in, under, through.
Sewing machine in spindly-legged cabinet
was a swing-open door, was blue and green
of thread, spool clacking on spool
stacked on wooden pegs.
Bookshelves a crackle of dust jackets
under my splayed hands.
And the kitchen cupboard that held
the turning shelf, the one that moved
each time my hand touched it,
that one was again.
2 comments:
Very nice .. it's a different POV at that age, isn't it?
The first line is stumbly to me. I think maybe it's just the placement of 'knee-level', putting it first or on a separate line might help. The first read had me viewing a knee-level height house just a second too long .. ;-)
Yes! Great poem!
(and yes that first line is a bit confusing, wd "at knee-level, I knew the house" or "I knew, at knee-level, the house"..hm, no, well anyway...)
The abstractions don't pull me in as much as the details of linoleum, dining room table, sewing machine and turning shelf. Some wonderful lines and descriptions. I think my mom had that same sewing machine cabinet...anyway, very evocative.
Nice!
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