rug

The designs of this rug under my feet. Ornate, intricate, baroque patterns stitched in ivory with a black background. It adds warmth to this room to my feet perhaps to the coloring in this room. Ivory fringe tickles the sides. My feet rest comfortably, lightly on top of it. It does not fly. It is not magic. Though I’m not sure where it’s from. Fringe only tickles two sides, the shorter sides of the rectangle. I am not sure where it has come from. Possibly from my Nonna’s house before she died. Or after she died. Probably after. There was such a mass cleanout of her house when she was both alive and dead. Many items were salvaged under our room. Under our roof. I feel old, depressed. I never thought time could do this to me. I thought I could be impervious. And maybe it isn’t time. It’s just me and I can’t fix it through sheer will. This rug stretches across about 3 or 4 feet long. I think. Estimating lengths was never my forte. I never worked in construction. There is actually another rug in front of this on. I floormat/doormat which I believe is really a small cutout of carpet that used to be in this room before we got hardwood floors. I think my Nonna was still alive when we did that. But our first dog Coco was not. He had died at least a month or two before. It is smaller than this larger rug. It looks like a good rug to wipe your shoes on. But the dog lays on it mostly. It gives him another surface to rest his laurels. Laurel was the name of a dorm at Ramapo that I never got to stay in. It was the Junior dorm. And it was nice. And I would have loved to stay there if my roommate situation didn’t fall apart sophomore year. But Nonna had just moved in with us and I found myself wanting to live back home. In those two years I dormed, I feel like I missed so much of my family’s life. Especially my brother’s life. There’s a lot that I just wasn’t around for. When I found out about it later it made me sad. Stormy ocean water roll wave. Lost boat at sea. Lantern violently swaying. What to do when you can’t call for help. Bell rings to nowhere. Only God can hear your plea, that is, if you can scream loud enough and the strong gales of wind don’t get caught in your throat.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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