Poem for Today

A Place Without Words

I am there now,
a place without words.

In between white socks spread 
across the laundry room counter. 
There are too many
to count. 

Brown toe
with stretched heel.
Green stripe
and yellow toes. 

Who belongs to these socks? 
They do not belong to me.
So I move from one place without words
to another. 

Like Sylvia Plath 
without a typewriter
 
or Kurt Schwitters hiding 
under a table in a concentration
camp.
 
Waiting for scraps of food
or paper to fall. 
Waiting 
to make art
out of nothing. 

To make art out of something
that someone else
has thrown away. 

Is there an end
to the poem?

I don’t know.
I am in a place 
without words. 

by Pam RuBert 
aka PaMdora