NOW, I KNOW DUST By S.G. Parker

NOW, I KNOW DUST 


Once, I knew dusting and pink feather dusters,
wiping a cloth over black walnut wood,
scouring the scum from a tarnished faucet,
and sucking up crumbs from a cheap rag-rug.
 
I’d shovelled the filth of next-door’s tabby,
spooned the brown slime from a leaf-clogged drain,
scrubbed the white mildew from a split heirloom,
and scraped green mould from a cracked windowpane.
 
I had dug in the earth and bagged up mud,
knew my loam from silt and my silt from sand.
I’d sieved the ripe soil from ancient latrines,
and trowelled the ground until dirt looked clean.
 
I thought I knew every type of deposit.
I'd washed my hands of things best left unsaid.
Yet the dust I knew was merely a dusting,
a fine film left by life's hard tread.
 
But now, I know dust, its force, and its burden,
its constant intrusion in all that I do,
its presence eternal and source uncertain.
Now, I know dust. Yes, now, I know dust.

S. G. Parker is based in Doha, Qatar, where he has lived with his wife since 2014. His work has appeared in Bright Flash Literary Review, DoveTales, and Desert Tracks. For more information see: www.greigparker.com.