Libby's Odyssey

Today, I acknowledged the mold,
Black mold creeping into the grout of my tiles.
At first, a few spores,
mitigation achieved with a bit of vinegar in a spray bottle.
I didn’t have the time back then.

That’s the thing with mold—if you leave it be,
Consenting entry into your space, it grows.
Germinating, breeding, propagating and multiplying.
Spores inch their way into every crevice,
Faster than you care to notice.

The antithetical flora,
The plant given no encouragement to grow.
No water, nurture, soil—
Mold thrives in neglect.
No invite received, an invasion nonetheless.

Your oversight becomes its power.
A simple act of negligence,
A hegemonic hive mind takes over (the mold owns you now).
Futile attempts made with bleach and toothbrush.
It’s too late now.
Too late.

I spoke with the mold today,
Sinews running through my walls.
Poisoned spores in my lungs, breath in and hold.
I asked the mold to give me time,
To rectify my cursory omissions.
I beg,
I plead for one last chance.

But mold does not give second chances,
It does not listen to reason.
For once it has made its home within you,
Trespassing, a blatant transgression,
It is there to stay.

Your only fault is inaction.
Mold will fester when unattended

(You know that).

You lost the privilege of control many years ago,
Possessions cherished, cracked with black and green—
Polluted objects of the mold’s dominion.

Soon, you will be too.