Yurij Dobriansky declared:

Desolate

Monday, February 25th, 2008 at 8:52 pm

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

She weaved and she wove.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

The water’s boiling on the stove.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

She rocked. And she rocked.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

Forward and back, crickle and crack.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

The telephone rings, the whistle blows.

Everything stops, but her breath goes.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

The cats meow.


This post is: Poetry, Yurij Dobriansky
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