Where I Belong
I surrendered to the pull on my body,
some magnetic force drawing me
past the cocktail language, coifed
hair, Capri pants and Stuart Weitzman sandals,
through the Widdicomb chaise of flowered damask
beyond the brown and gold striped brocade wallpaper
between the particles of drywall
and into the space that separates
from the there-and-then
spider webs with mummy flies,
remnants of the builders
an empty bottle of Piels with a blanket of dust,
resting like a soldier against the stud Ð
a crumpled pack of Camels and
a paper sack with Joe scribbled in pencil
Here in the solitude,
my forehead against the lathing,
cacophony muted, at last
I exhale pent-up expectations,
expel forced conviviality
What if I could remain always inside these walls
to glide unseen between rooms
a forgotten guest
untouched by daily woes
to remain nestled
in my cobwebbed utopian world.
Christine McKee has played around the edges of poetry for many years while pursuing meaningful employment.
Now that retirement is on the horizon, she understands her past folly and has reversed her priorities.
Some of poems have been published in the Bucks County Writer and L’Stange Café. Other
interests include opera, travel, reading, and being outdoors.
CHRISTINE McKEE IN THIS EDITION:
POETRY: Where are you now?
POETRY: Where I Belong