The Laundry, Philadelphia – Poetry by Isabella Maya

Dan Witz – New Jersey Office Park

I lean against,
I smell,
The faintly musty

That underground odour.
The air a notch colder than my body,
And barely noticeable.

There are no sounds from outside,
And inside:
Only a regular clanking as wire hits metal.

A wooden table vibrates

And the lighting
The red rust.

The signs of human presence are:
Cigarette stubs in the sink,
Stained paintbrushes, a forgotten sock.

In this grimy fort,
I let my fatigue
And my uncertainty
Be felt.

About the Poet

Isabella Maya is a part-time economist who likes time to think, write poetry, and separate her organic waste. She lives in a tiny flat by the sea in Cape Town, South Africa, generally figuring out what brings her meaning and joy. She hopes to have enough imagination to comprehensively rethink the economy fairly soon.

For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.

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