Why We Sigh
Poem By Melissa Goodman
The water spins in the washing machine
But besides that, there is no other sound,
In the house, a vapor let out from within
Accumulates in one room, in the center and
Then spreads to fill the empty spaces,
Places we were, where the residue
Of our laughter sticks beneath the dust
On the wooden furniture and vinyl drapes.
The air is stale but still breathable
It enters through my nose, and I inhale.
My eyes adjust better to the darkness settled in the room,
The paint on the walls is fading, but the image like
Salt, still bring in sharply the memory
Of the time when we were pretending,
Rigidly, I stand in a corner of the room.
I hear the buzz for the laundry.
I put the wet clothes in the drier.