Spring Cleaning

18


(A 1960s, Minnesota Poem)


During spring cleaning my
mother worked the house
as if—she was having a GI-Party:
one of those Army clean-up parties
where everything had to be ‘Spick and Span.’
Every nook and crack in every inch
of the place, clean and shiny. She
moved the furniture around—awkward
as it was—sofa chair, table and television
lifting up rugs—and still having
strength and stamina to wash walls
clean. And in the midst of it all
I often wondered, she never rearranged
the rooms. Perhaps because she didn’t
want grandpa to become disoriented.
Thus, no one had to deal with change.
And no one knew the inexhaustible
efforts she put out.

No: 2695 (5-18-2010)