Poetry: Sponge Days


some days
I seem to be a sponge
sadly not the sea-born sort
that rests now on my bathtub rim
there to scrub my skin with suds
then lie still again


I’m not even the kind
dually designed
with sides to scrub and wipe
to wash the dishes and clean the counters
and earn its sleep each night


I feel like the faded one
used to clean everything else
wrung to weightless dryness
and I will fall apart
and I will fade away


because home wasn't built in a day

Sponge Days, copyright Meredith C. Jackson, 2019

11 thoughts on “Poetry: Sponge Days”

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