Our House Is Alive

May 26, 2008
By
My mom, in the kitchen:
swirls the ladle,
taps the spice canister,
gently tips the milk.
Her wrist swishes back and forth.

My mom, in the laundry room:
turns the knob,
dips the detergent in,
scoops the clothes.
Her arms move back and forth.

My mom, in the living room:
follows the vacuum,
twirls the duster,
bows down to reach lonely corners.
She knows every inch of the floor.

Our house has a pulse, with the heart of a dancing mother.





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