Poem: Interior Designs

The empty cup, the rug, the stairs,
the legs of chairs and other bits
of household wares lie jumbled on
the floor. You sit and stare,
and in your mind arrange a plan
whereby it all makes sense.
The rug will go upon the floor.
The chairs upon the rug, just there.
The cup you’ll fill with wine.
But still the stairs, off to the side,
angle out of the room,
leading God knows where.

This article appears in August 2010.