What the Carpet Knows


I see what’s underneath ladies’ skirts; their plump underpinnings and roundness.

I feel shoes scrape across my surface, the feel of a broom and the bold suck of a vacuum

Each piece of me becomes a bit tattered over the days and piece-worn over the years.

Those who made me wove in color and particles of their life; skin from their fingers.

The colors made them exclaim: “How bright the room looks. It’s like a picture!”

I’ve felt writhing, passionate bodies roll onto me when there was no couch, and seen what others would not dare to think. If they asked, “Who?” I would only lie.

I am filled with life, taken for granted and finally wadded up and thrown into a large trash bin

All my memories buried, gone. If they only knew.

But I’ll I can do is lie.

KAB 3/12/11

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Angie's Diary