Toilet, by its many names, takes turds and toots with only a light expectation of care. This device was the seat of my family's shared sense of humor. So surprising was it that my beloved found nothing humorous in potty, poop, or pop-pop-pop. Enameled cast iron sink with dulled faucet handles and spigot. An aged symbol of making it, now with a drip, a few chips, and some rust stains. The plumbing almost fully exposed, the attachment not necessarily secure if made without a pedestal.
Bare bulb, pull chain light. A fixture manipulated with balls on a chain, or by the tug of a grimy string with a tiny bell on the end. Filament exposed, bright, hot, and likely to sizzle errant fingers.
Linoleum flooring, cut into equally sized squares. Regular, irregular pattern of brown with black and white streaks. What an invention! The odd pieces with broken corners in the middle of the room and the corners with abutted bits cut to fit and laid not quite level.
Desks made just after the so-called second world war, when metal and wood were freed up from fighting to again be made available in great heavy mass. Nearly immovable objects which were not above pinching a child's finger, or taking a scrape of skin.
Pens with barrels and rolling points. The ink is not flowing? Light a match to it. Or scribble on something and maybe get a flow. Writing that cannot be erased, only redacted.
Acrid, smoke-filled offices with intense people working hard at their craft, down long corridors that reverberated every foot fall, every shuffle, every voice with dullness bordering on quaint.
Seemingly, ninety-nine percent of my life thus far has been spent indoors. No wonder my dreams contain so many hollow, and awkward structures.
As I continue working my way through the Steps (on Step Eight at the time of this submission), I have begun seeing green, treed spaces in my dreams. I feel this is a clearing out of psychic clutter and am glad for it.
Thanks for reading and showing up to work your program.
Vi in Texas
Mari V