A Basic Poem About a Rug

Blue and white,

Dynamic lines

Zigging, Zagging, criss crossing about the floor

Slightly dinghy, but still appealing

Often overlooked, yet unforgotten

Step on the rug for comfort.

Maybe stare at it for a sense of nostalgia

Or just step over it, for it is a rug.

Circles upon circles revolving around each other

Meeting in the center, intertwining through each ring

What is the purpose of this rug?

Who carefully crafted each rung of the circle? What purpose does each pattern hold?

Does the rug need purpose? Why can't the rug just be.

It's simply a rug

A pleasurable rug, a fine rug

It's existence need not be defined by purpose

It's not expected to be anything, it's just a rug

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Dream Story

I followed the impulse up the stairs to stand in my bedroom, to fade into its familiarity. The same bed, the same tousled covers flung haphazardly the past morning. If we each owned a lifelong landscape, in this moment my bedroom would be mine. The same mess...the same solace. Sometimes being in my room feels like an escape. It feels like I could detach from the world and drift into the clouds on my worn rug island. I proceed to bury my face in the blankets, pick up a pillow and press it to my skin, plummet into a sweatshirt. My sanctuary. In here, even if it's temporary, I'm safe from everything else. Free from everyone else. I'm distracted from the inevitable. You're supposed to be looking for something... Ah! Thank you brain for the reminder. I'm here because I'm looking for something! Something I need... I feel my eyes snap into their searching regimen. Scan the room, glance left then right, identify the difference. Find what's out of place.....remove it...

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Watch What Happens, Alana Williamson

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