Poems / poetry / verse

Floorboards

She cut
Deftly, the corners
In socked feet.
At the foot of four floors
She turned back up,
Up and down
Like a bean in a can.

She knew, effortlessly,
Every worn space
The friction and the angle
Of every place
Her feet would land.

She sat, mostly,
behind a closed door
At the foot of a bed
At the top of four floors
Turned inward,
With a pen, or a cigarette
In her hand.

She grew
Thin. She ran up
And down, trying
To fill the space
She was in.
She sat. She knew.
She cut.