dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: P.O. Box

a silent space

hangs on a tightrope

between our chins.

it’s not empty,

just quiet

like the locked

medicine cabinet,

like the plastic storage bin

dusty in the attic,

like the black box

that survived the fire.

This miniature metal condominium houses all types.

Showy, obnoxious advertisements curl uncomfortably

In the small, bland room, much to their distaste.

The neighbor is a humbler sort,

A handwritten letter scrawled on simple stationery,

Waiting patiently in its temporary home.

Several doors down intimidating bills crowd the space,

Wedged between fighting cousins, the credit card offers.

Leaving their renovated homes,

Simple country houses

And crowded office buildings at the end of the day,

Everyday people rush to check their mail.