Poetry 2010 / Volume 41

Sweeping — Judy Ireland

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.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s