The Cleaning Woman

Frenetic to be and a bit forgotten

Hard to hold in mind, and a brush

With wires.


Drop it.  I can’t.  A fever!  

Awful the throb, and little winter light



Auroras, wooly-bear caterpillars

On the carpet the colors

From a prism.


In the window.  The neighbors

Are waiting.  Outside

The porch sags.


Her legs had violet varicose veins

She grew pink tea roses.


2 thoughts on “The Cleaning Woman

  1. I read, this and all, and I wonder…

    about patterns, as the mind yearns for something to know

    about coincidences, as the mind is vast as the worlds it lives in

    about the unconscious, as the mind reveals what resembles the webs on an old forest’ soil

    about the concious, as the mind register, selects and remembers
    (does it somehow care?)

    Anyway, I wonder when coming here will eventually feel repetitive. Right know, it seems like never.

    I appreciate so much that you share your writing. Thank you.

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