housework — part II
a poem about housework
written in 2013; revised in 2016; republished in 2018
I sweep our floors and organize our closets
Alphabetize our books and weed the garden
Season the cast iron, polish the wood
Wash the sheets and cook your food
I dust the knick-knacks, iron your slacks and you say, “Throw me a fucking bone”
The crease is off-center
I do the dishes nosily, and utter prayers when you can’t hear me
Or harmonize to the vacuum’s hum, I envy
its voice
I pick up dirty clothes, and shove them in hampers,
getting a rise each time I deposit the garments in their rightful place,
wondering if this time I’ve stayed your anger
It is my labor
for love
I wipe counters down until my reflection stares back at me,
then back away slowly
get consumed with the silverware drawer
the salad forks are commingling again with the teaspoons, and that can’t be
Or else this slip in tidiness will surely lead to a mess
that we sweep under the rug
The only dirt that’s allowed to stay is our own
but you say I don’t know
what’s good for me, for you
So I bleach the bathroom –
tub to toilet to shining sink
It’s the American dream
You say this is grooming me
to be all you need me to be
the way I was in your dreams
But
This isn’t my dream
It’s life atrophy
I am not your fucking trophy
Whose soul am I scrubbing each time I start mopping
Laying in, hands, knees, a little elbow grease into the scum on these floors?
Is it yours?
I swept the kitchen floor the day I left you
Shed tears over the black and white tiles,
and stayed awhile
then mopped them up with soapy water,
and waited with bated breath as they dried
A suit case, a pillow, a blanket, one desk lamp, eight books, two boxes filled with the belongings I deemed necessary for survival
This is my revival
You said, you came here with two suit cases, and ended up with a wife
and a meticulously assembled life
I came to you with everything, and left with nothing, but a fresh start
My chores completed — no pillowcase left un-fluffed, or stainless-steel appliance un-buffed
No dirty dish in the sink, except one
To remind you I was there, just hours before
enjoying a bowl of cereal,
which you now must clean
more about the author + her art: N. Clark Creative
about her work: N. Clark Creative Solutions
