Dust settles on antique oak, sleeping
not disturbed
how I wish that I could steal time
from my hurried self
to sit amidst curtains of cotton
cupboards of plates
dust thats found its bed
no destination – not be roused
doors slam shut – engines start
the same day nine to five
angry fists that wave
but do not smile
the every day – I sleepwalk
wishing for the ‘dust time’
to sit and gather thoughts
when sunlight filters through smudged panes
and hits the back of chairs
melts butter on the dish
my words would spill like milk across
the sun annointed tablecloth
Ramblings From A Mum 