Dirty Laundry

by Stephanie Michelle

Three weeks had already gone by

when I realized all I’ve done is stare

down the mouth of the kitchen sink,

 

Walked down the same dim hallway,

drove the same street

 

When did We become I?

 

Coffee-stained, white t-shirts

and the one polaroid;

 

A chord from your ratted sweatshirt

pointed

at the front door.

 

All the dust

accumulated on books,

on shelves…

 

Every time he left

I would cry over the

nonexistent bath mat, wet floor

of him.

 

(over, and over, and over…)

 

I took to my knees to scrub

only to find that I

haven’t made a mess

to begin with.

 

I remember when he lit my

first cigarette back in January,

And I watched his brow,

illuminated by

a cold flame.

 

How south I was from summer.

 

But somehow I am thankful

for love;

how paralyzing it can be,

how intoxicating, and

 

I am thankful for coffee stains,

 

and the fact that I no longer

urge to scrub them

clean.