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.