Housework:  

rm_xsaturnine 30F
23 posts
7/17/2006 12:09 pm

Last Read:
7/18/2006 4:16 pm

Housework:


Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp switched off;

and if only once
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.

- - a note - - wislawa szymborska

Sitting cross-legged on a chair in the dining room, waiting for the pan to boil and then boil over.

My words have been building a house for themselves lately, making me talk about clean windows and fresh fruit, staining my fingers with red food coloring and disinfectant. My body is all empty bottles and the whirr of the washing machine, heart like cling film and boxes of matches and I think with my fingers if I think at all. In a few months I am packing myself into boxes, and those boxes into the back of my car, and I'm down to a single room and a shared kitchen, so I'm clutching at the domestic side of me furiously, sweeping crumbs from the counter with one hand into the other, and watering the plants like I'm keeping us both alive.

I wring out the mop and I refill the kettle and I dust the wine glasses on the top shelf, standing on the tips of my toes to reach them, afraid that if one spills out of my hands someone will know that I meant it to. My hands are raw from water that gets cold so quickly, and from soap and constant drying, so that I can not hold a pen for too long, or turn a page or hold myself still enough to colour my eyes.

Every night I close the window and open it again, hurling myself at messy sheets that I can not throw off no matter the temperature. And I sleep, more or less, with my back to the wall and my hands curled under my chin.

rm_smosmof2 67M
3240 posts
7/17/2006 1:06 pm

I'm one of those people who prefers to have a tidy description for everything-- a way to categorize to place things in their niches.

You defy that. What you write isn't fiction, isn't poetry, isn't verse, isn't erotic. And it's all of the above.

You have touched me. I have trouble believing that you're only 19.


rm_xsaturnine 30F

7/18/2006 4:16 pm

    Quoting rm_smosmof2:
    I'm one of those people who prefers to have a tidy description for everything-- a way to categorize to place things in their niches.

    You defy that. What you write isn't fiction, isn't poetry, isn't verse, isn't erotic. And it's all of the above.

    You have touched me. I have trouble believing that you're only 19.
I'm incredibly flattered. Thanks for taking the time to read.

Sometimes, I have a hard time believing it, too.


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