I sweep at the front door.
I sweep away your ghost and our long-handled
fights that sat on the fire for days.
I sweep with sweat between my breasts,
housecoat tied at my waist.
I sweep with amis that wither and fatten at the
same time. I shape myself into something new
with each swipe of the broom.
I sweep up the stray hairs and
fingernail clippings, pieces of thread,
dust and daylight. I sweep us forward
into the grass,
onto the rocks and the pebbles.
I sweep our lives into the street.