Renee Liang's blog on poetry, fiction, works-in-progress, the art of writing.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Tatami and Wood
Mats slide soft sniff and swallow sounds of things past of soups and spells and words flung lengthways keep their judgement to themselves. Wooden floors are less discerning. Hardened to dirt and the stuff of spilt dreams, nonetheless they cry out as a woman runs to her lover.