Spring Cleaning

Floor,

I met you you when you were naked, when the walls were plain and puckered white rims could reach to kiss you where you laid

I remember, your center was strewn with scuffs, etched into place by others who had lived here before, 

You cried and creaked, 

Stretched by the feet that pressed into your skin 

Carrying so much weight.

I saw your marks and I felt shame, with arms wounded like your wooden face, 

I said to you that we were the same

So I covered you with a blanket,

One made of twin sheets, two towels, eight shoes, strewn pants and empty cans

And your cries were nothing more than a distant memory hidden underneath dirty laundry

Then,

Through a bag of pantiliners and a box of paper clutter, 

I swear I heard you sputter— like the plastic wrappings on your skin were asphyxiating,

Like the clothes collected enough dust for you to cough,

Like sweat stains became airplanes, and socks became maggots, 

The windows are sweating now,

The drawers are panting, Jean tongues hanging out of open mouths

They can’t breathe either 

This isn’t love, this isn’t warmth, it was the rotting of wood

It was then when I filled with the benevolent “I should I should I should”

So I picked up the socks, folded the pants, cleaned up the clothes and threw out the cans

I dusted the bunnies, closed the drawers, wiped the window and uncovered the floors

I uncovered the floor.

About the Author

Diana Mejia is a junior Honors student majoring in Animation.