South End Stew: Dust
by Leija Farr
Dust is dead skin cells
Bobbing against wood into a godless
corner where the sun is never soft.
No grandmother to explain
cobwebs,
draping over cabinets.
A perfection that mimics a prayer
you swallowed along with a country.
A language
A song.
And before you know it, your stomach
is a hallway
Folded between clinking bone.
The walls are thick, so no one will know what lives and dies here.
They will only know that you lost track of God,
Searching the summer
for stick jazz
and porcelain,
and another human body with a hallway
Before you move on to the next story …
The South Seattle Emerald™ is brought to you by Rainmakers. Rainmakers give recurring gifts at any amount. With around 1,000 Rainmakers, the Emerald™ is truly community-driven local media. Help us keep BIPOC-led media free and accessible.
If just half of our readers signed up to give $6 a month, we wouldn’t have to fundraise for the rest of the year. Small amounts make a difference.
We cannot do this work without you. Become a Rainmaker today!
