You've wiped your feet so many times on me,
And not from meanness,
But from disregard.
You mistook me for a welcome mat,
Although my distinguishing characteristics
Clearly marked me as a coverlet.

You could have pulled me up
And over your head,
And dreamed beneath the eyelets of my lace,
Buried your face in me
In laughter and in tears,
Instead of wiping mud on me
For all those years.

But I've been stuck just outside the door,
The backdoor here out in the elements,
Only washed when rain comes down, and wind
Sweeps across my back to brush me off.
But maybe limbo is a better place,
A far better place to which I've come.
Safer here outside the threshold,
Than in the deep recesses of your mind.

- jenn