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Ponderings on My Carpet MAG
I settle back with a dull thump
Onto the carpet that should’ve been swept last week.
Oh well.
I had better things to do.
Besides
When I am gone this is how I will be remembered, I think:
The little bits of everything strewn across the floor.
Only a bit of dirt or a ragged thread left for someone else to stumble over,
But to some sentimental soul, it could mean that time we went to the creek
And laughed all night, the only souvenir the mud on our shoes.
Or the day I noticed my favorite jeans were frayed at the cuffs
And left them that way, only to have that ragged thread fall,
Marking something, some small moment of my life
Pressed into the carpet for all to see.
So there it is,
My little carpet collage –
Bits of this and that,
Bits of memories,
Bits of my life –
Taking refuge in the protective crevices of my carpet.
How could I destroy this with one sweep of a vacuum?
…You’re not buying it?
All right, I’ll sweep the floor.
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This article has 47 comments.
This reminds me of a poem I read in a childrens book of poetry in second grade, i think it was shel silverstein, about how his room held all his artifacts, and it was his museum.
