Member-only story
Objects, No Longer Useful
A free verse poem
Published in
Jun 13, 2022
An empty bed
a tarnished metal bowl
a brush, still bristling with hair
a defiant pack of dust bunnies
A memory that cuts, that stings
(you fell
as though you no longer had bones,
like laughter
lay crumpled, like the dawn despaired)
A toy, half-chewed
scratches
— written on the floor where your nails cut deep —
that now speak only
a silence
a silence
an unfamiliar silence
Abruptly,
the smell of sun-baked stone drifts up from the rug
a dusty, desolate spectre
a confession
A box:
slightly bigger
than your body,
filled with objects,
no longer useful.
An indelible year, maybe two,
I felt you were my only friend
Danielle Loewen, June 2022
