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It takes a long time to clean a house by Isabelle Ghaneh It takes such a long time to clean a house any house (it must, I've seen other peoples' houses) first I must lay down, get myself in order it comes bit by bit the sorting of the dirty laundry, this pile, that pile the sweeping the cobwebs, the alien spiders I find one dangling by the washbasin (the sink we call it now) the dishes, the dusting, the bathroom finally I air the house out letting in the small breeze that I can't wait to catch then comes folding hanging up the shirts, pants and putting socks in drawers in between I take little rests I listen to music Carmine Burina, the white album my mind pounds away I remember things that never happened the mother I could have had if she hadn't been insane the father he might have been if he had any courage the brother I wish I'd known the cousins I lost I think to last week, last year, last life the phone call I want to make and am afraid to the quarters I keep in my pocket, in case this time I can put them in the payphone, the one outside the library the one I feel safe to use I wonder what to do I think maybe someone waved to me once I did not wave back does this mean I can call him now and say just this is everything right now, is all forgiven I want to make another call ;this one is to one I haven't seen since I trekked over the Mojave desert three years ago, it was so hot, July then, and again now will I hear hello or even how are you or better yet why did you call me I wonder will I wait for someone that maybe I don't want to wait for someone still near the Mojave I came back, he stayed If I do wait am I still wanting to be this person’s wife anymore or at all and what is a wife anyway but a stupid title I felt I had to take on for societies sake being on the outside for so long I found my ticket in and it was stamped wife can I give that up now everything is clean and tidy I am clean and tidy it just looks beautiful I can pick up my yummy son from his job the one he has for the summer before college starts again in the fall before he leaves me for months at a time already you know I see it in his eyes he's going going gone before the day comes again, first of course the night this night after he has dinner I rush to wash the dishes I want all to be well and clean and tidy Until tomorrow Then it just gets dirty again Until next Sunday, next August, next year and I can clean up again |
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Document last modified on: 01/12/2002