The Carpet Fitter Poem by Jenny Kalahar

Into a strange house, office
apartment I step
wiping my shoes on the outdoor mat first
as a respectful salute
a last tribute for the dying one

Each place has windows that have let in fading light
in paler patches before them.
Each a unique aroma
and I inhale, knowing this home
will never again hold its same scent
once I have torn free the trod-upon
cleaned the pallid floor
rolled out a pad
and then installed the chemical-infused
uncrushed, spun-fiber
plump, crystal-clean new

Children watch from room borders.
Dogs sit with them, eyes wary
a soft arf or whine given now and then
in mourning
weakly observing the thievery of their familiar comforts

Mothers water plants or cook in other rooms
or fathers find driveway weeds to pull.
They are happy for a change
yet nostalgic for the old all at once.
Memories of stain splashes
red Christmas candle wax drippings
sofa feet and cradle indentations
magic marker scribbles
grape juice spills
and embraces in places
where no visible traces remain

Through all of these emotions that surround me
I unroll, tack, trim, notch corners
wink at the dog who is unsure
if he will ever walk on what I have lain
My knees ache
my back burns
I am too hot or cold, but never complain
solemn in my sacred duty
taking away all remnants as I go