STEPHEN MEAD

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

Image by Jan Kopriva

The Housekeeper’s Work Ethic

I believe in cleaning,
beating carpets, turning
the mattress, zipping down
screens to let winter’s
breath out.
It’s my faith, direction of a sort.
Yet how necessary to keep in mind:
stuff still piles:
letters of worry beads,
newspaper clippings,
telephone frets.
In between we share tips,
a creed against dust:
not to mix bleach & ammonia,
how dry bread crumbs remove stains.
My Mother taught me much of this,
scouring walls till her fingers
were puckered.
Water rinses the dirt.
Now I sit on the back porch,
have a cigarette while floors dry.
On three windows are paintings
I did last summer, each abstract
but human from emotional toll.
Weather’s starting to chip them.
Bring me a whisk broom.
I must be industrious, confront
the undertow & hold onto the world.
Oh domesticity, oh Jerusalem the Golden,
watch me starch, iron, redeem
all your violence.
Afterwards the marks will be nothing
save a challenge discipline purifies
& pride gently holds.