Wringing

                                         leaning against the door
                                            of the refrigerator
                                               to hear the hum and
                                                  to feel the reverberations,
                                                     to absorb the rush of life
                                                        outside that other door--
                                                           the electricity of connections
                                                              to voices and ideas
                                                                 and busy-ness
                                                                    and songs and chatter,
                                                                       growth--
                                                                          to escape the fading
                                                                             of life and dreams
                                                                                soaking me up
                                                                                   like a sponge,
                                                                                      leaving me dripping
                                                                                         and spreading across

the floor