TEMPLATE
Merely to the supposedly natural role of woman.
Fixed in a stretch of lingering idleness,
through a burned hole in the curtain
I see another fragment of reality.
A plain truth — life in a template.
A cliché perhaps reshapes the given space
into a slightly better place for longing.
Reality commands! Inner divide.
Everyday, ordinary striving…
Vacuum, strip it all of every dust,
mop, cook, wash the dishes…
Finish the scarf, keep the fire. Desires in check.
One season, another, then a third…
I question myself, search for some mistake.
I question. Always the same… By heart.
The other side of the coin. The weight of promise…
The form of tax. Sacrifice — reply.
Author: Veron
