Song of the Vacuum
I’ve seen those old stone steps, worn and hollowed,
Not by footsteps but by housewives scrubbing, scrubbing,
Themselves worn down by careworn chores and drudgery.
I remember the song of women’s work:
Wash on Monday
Iron on Tuesday
Mend on Wednesday
Clean on Friday….
A woman’s work is never done, they say.
Cleanliness is next to godliness, they say.
Well, screw that.
Here is my messy studio.
Art is created in chaos. Deal with it.
Welcome to my messy home.
We only clean for company, so come on in!
You can leave your shoes on.
This is my messy heart,
Still learning friend from foe, “nice” from “kindness”,
“charm” from “danger”.
Loving you for who you are
Instead of who I want you to be.
Here is my muddy soul.
I set down the burdens others put on me.
I wipe away the dirt some thought that I should hold.
My soul shines bright in the moonlight,
Radiant in the dark.
Here is my life, the awkward, stumbling journey,
Waves rolling, crashing,
The sun in my eyes, shoes filled with sand
The waves break, the sun sets.
The wind is wild and cool.
I take off my shoes.
I see our footprints, side by side, as gulls cry and soar above us.
The beach is full of sticks and rocks,
Dead kelp and screeching gulls,
Clouds of sand flies and salt.
It is beautiful beyond imagining,
And so are you, and I.