What do I sweep away
when I dust the bedroom ceiling fan?
Lover’s sighs, prayers for healing,
nightmare visits, the musk
of stale perfume?
What memories of feasts eaten
among friends, or family,
do I wash away as I scrub
dried gravy spills from
old cupboard doors?
And once my tenancy expires,
what remains will I leave
to be erased by unknown
ones that follow?
© by Merle Hazard.
Used with the author’s permission.
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