Clean House

English: Partly black and white icon of broom ...

January swept in
after the holidays,
like dust
in front of a broom–
gray, cold, swirling.

Vacuum screamed.
I removed a sock.
Bubbie’s. He’d looked
for it before he left.
“Never keeps up with
anything,” his mother
complained.

Careful how you scold,
I wanted to caution my
daughter-in-law,
but kept silent.

Found a spoon
Bubbie’s little sister
hid in the Mother-in-law’s
Tongue with half a
banana.

I fluffed the pillows,
swiped the table
with Pledge, replaced
a doily and candy dish.

Remembered my son
at Bubbie’s age, and . . .
later on, how handsome
he looked in uniform,
green beret covering
his military style
crew cut.

Memories swept in
gray, cold, swirling.

©Copyright, 2013,  Freeda Baker Nichols

7 comments on “Clean House

  1. This is beautiful, honest and real.

    Like

  2. Dorothy Johnson says:

    Final stanza grabbed me.

    Like

  3. Catherine Johnson says:

    Freeda, there is so much more to this than meets the eye. Great view through the keyhole.

    Like

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