While you’re out I clean the kitchen.
I put away the saucepans, wash the spoons,
and wipe the surfaces over and over.
I want the room clean for when you get home.
As I scrub the counter I picture the inside
of my own mind, wishing I could clean it up –
each swish of the cloth a cleansing
of my own thoughts, my own failings.
When you get home I want it all to be OK.
I want us to be OK. I want our life to be clean.
And so I take the cloth and I wipe the surface.
It’s my way of trying to say I love you.
Joshua Seigal
