Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Me, My Home

By
Anita S

i open the door and let myself in.
the house shreiks the unwelcome silence.
tired and hungry, i hunt feebly for something to eat.
nothing.
the leaden question weighs the air.
should i cook something only to discover it unpalatable?
or use the precious minutes for a prolonged nap?
lethargy triumps.
i crawl sulkily into bed.
my grumble and my stomach's rumble tinkle melodiously together.
i dream of gourmet lunches left untasted by me
afternoons i prayed for silence to pursue
my noble nap.
days i didnt have to "let myself in"to creaking emptiness.
father calls at 4 o'clock.
when did you come back?
at 2.oo
what are you doing?
sleeping.
did you put the milk in the fridge?
i'll do it now.
are you going out?
no.
if you are, then dont forget to lock the balcony door.
yah.
i'll buy you dinner on the way home.
mmm.
funereal talk.
he sounds depressed.
we are both monumental failures as housewives.
my mom is out of town.

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