- Photo: A working dog rests in the ring during the parade at the West of England Game Fair in Somerset, England. (Ben Birchall)
- Related Posts: It’s been a long day
I am not a person to say the words out loud
I think them strongly, or let them hunger from the page:
know it from there, from my silence, from somewhere other
than my tongue
the quiet love
the silent rage
Maybe it would be better
to let out a gentle sigh
at the transience of the world
and carry on.
When I tell you how bad it is,
how hard I’ve worked at something,
how much I’ve been through,
there is only one phrase I want to hear.
‘That’s enough. You can stop now.’
I wanted to know:
Was it enough to sing small songs that rose to the surface for a moment, shared then gone?
What about everlasting glory?
Didn’t he want a smidge of that?
the muscles in our shoulders must be
to lift our wings even a single time.
I have had days
stare back at me as if to say,
let’s see who will darken first.
What is definitely true is that I am never short of work, and I’m not even a “great” cleaner, or a treasure. I’m a good cleaner. I do skirting boards, light switches, polish the smudges and grease off kettles and toasters. I do the stuff other people don’t have the time or inclination to do. I’ll take all your boyfriend’s work shirts back to my flat to iron if your electricity is on the blink. I will go the extra mile, because the work is honest, very physical, and at the end of the day, I sleep the deep sleep of the justly tired.
~ Michele Kirsch: My life as a cleaner in London
Here is what I love about the brain:
How it remembers.
How it sews what soft it can
into a blanket for the nights
when I am cold with trouble.
~ Sean Patrick Mulroy, from “The Offering” in Tap Lit Mag (Fall/Winter 2016)