Maria del Canto
Office walls, which once confined
my existence, now, left bare with
only thumbtacks as company.
They form outlines, ghost-like figures
scattered, against the backdrop
like clear constellations.
I tell dear friends, how I grieve-
for those abandoned thumbtacks,
trapped in eight hour days, with
the grinding sound of the paper shredder
bellowing in the background.
They should be holding up wedding invitations,
birthday cards, children’s paintings, messages
and more, so much more-
I pause for breath, noticing-
my friends are bartenders
wiping down, the last sloppy spill of the night.
And all their funny stares, in my direction
Are just that: Funny Stares.
Stumbling home that night, I imagine
tacking myself on a world map, spanning
continents I’ve never been to, and
lingering, on countries I’ve never seen.