Every night, before her sleep,
she would steep her human hands in the warmth of dishwater,
in the sink beneath the window.
The clink of china kept her mind from finding
too much solitude in the lovely velvet void
of the window’s inky black.
If she stopped to look into the night,
a little fright would clasp her heart,
and hang her in a vast emptiness apart from things she knew,
so she kept her mind on mundane tasks
and placed her faith in the little light behind her back,
who’s reflection on the pane of glass
made the shadow of the night
slightly easier to take,
and seemed to keep eternity at bay.
Author notes
Mr.
A contest entry
- Favorites; by ElectricBloom.
1750 points, ended June 26, 22 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Makes me feel as if I were being watched - reminded me of doing dishes in my parents kitchen, for some reason.
Now, living with windows on ground level, I'm always checking when I hear noises. Man, it sure was noisy last night - finally just had to ignore it!
As always, the content and writing style keep my eyes glued to the page!
ya All-Ways,
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~ Jan ~ ~
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Thanks.
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wow =]
i think this may be my new favorite piece by you,
i really love it. the simple beauty of it. the first stanza captured me, this is truly fantastic.
i'm at a loss for what to say.
you get better and better =]
ElectricBloom
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Thanks
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You know, Mr.,........lost for words, really.....very impressive...especially when the scene and its spirit is so familiar
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Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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