Collecting Dust

My mother once told me

never to leave secrets

lying about, collecting dust,

but to brush them up and throw them out.

She would scold me

if I left a speck of dirt behind.

So they lay swept under the rug,

along with love letters and cigarette ends

that burned defiantly and scorched holes

through which she could spy.

However hard I tried to extinguish them

by spitting rebellious words and crying crocodile tears,

or by yelling and stamping my feet,

I could never quieten the tongue

of that tell tale carpet!

But I managed to keep just a few of those secrets

when tiny sparks of ash escaped

and mingled with my thoughts,

allowed to burn freely there.

©Christine Magee