World stones

Tis the season where Ginnie sleeps and awakes with poems like this winding through her head. It’s so different from the day-to-day Ginnie that populates this blog with heartfelt, funny stories. I love this piece of writing.

The stereotypically silent suffering suburban spouse, I am not

 

What happens when a person with no rug to hide things under merits a family with the Everest of carpets

 

People don’t change, much, in the ways fundamental

 

Instead I learn silence

Indeed

Listening remembering

No rug yet no great sweeping cleaning either

 

Perhaps the silent suffering was more stewing

Wondering when the pot would boil over

 

Over boil

And drop drip stain the rug

 

Might the rug have to be stripped

Carried off for cleaning

Or would the stone

World stones carried on to protect the rug

The stains protected now too