I clean the house
When I feel helpless.
If I can just clean that little spot
I would have something.
And being able to do something,
Is meaningful
In a world filled with sorrow.
A glass top stove
So scorched and black
From months of neglect
Calls for attention.
I stand above it
wondering how it got so worn.
How my life has
Left me
Scorched and black?
Charred remains,
Remaining ever charred.
My hand moves clockwise
As I scrub counter-clockwise.
The end result is insignificant.
The scorchedness remains.
I wonder why she left
Without a word.
Her pain too strong,
For niceties,
For reconciliation.
The grey speckled
Surface of the stove
Peeks through
The darkness.
How many months will
This take to shine?
How many years did
the sorrow mount?
Quiet avoidance
Of simple connections.
Vigorous denials
Of ever increasing distance,
Obscuring even the smallest
Sign of affection.
I work an hour,
Then two.
The darkness remains.
The pain remains.
This will not go away
Like my darling girl,
My darling gentle girl.