Time

Time

Beneath the spinning ceiling fan
I breath in sweaty socks
My body is glued heavy to the floor
The aching of my feet
Rings through the air
As air is pushed from here
To there
Low
As if beneath the storm
She lays
Breathing in the ashes from her ancestors
She does not know
Where to go
Or what to do
Or why
But she knows how to stare them in them eye
Where are you coming from?
He asks as the fan blows fiercely in his face
It slowly rotates blowing in hers
Pushing the tear drops from her wet eyes
So close to the floor she can see every flick of dust
Every piece of dirt
Clings
The wood
Is this what ants see?
She wonders to herself
As she stares at the ceiling fan spin
And spin
And spin