Poetry

the dust never settles.

by Caroline Kuba

You can almost watch them
colonize your kitchen.
Filling up the                               
                                                       space.
                                         Indecisive of where to go.
    better wait 
              for the dust to settle — until you take the next breath.
But it never does.
The dust does not stay seated as long as your lungs still conjure storms into the living-room. 

It moves with you,
mirroring
and swaying in the setting sun.
Vanishing with the light
no longer
                                         reflecting
those tiny 
                           par       
                                         ti                                      
                                                       cles.
And oh, how fast they turn,
From tiny dancers to woven nets catching each other by their hands and laying rest
on cushions and couch covers              as soon as you close the door.
Awaiting your arrival,                
Cowering like kittens                 
                                                                    waiting
longing
For the echo of your feet 
                                                                    to lift the veil.

              Oh how they fly
                                                       motionless wings

Carried by stomps or dropping from the skies, the trees, shagged up furs, turned gray by the passage of your patience.
Never truly ready

for the dust
to settle.

Appeared in Issue Spring '24