I stumbled over a shoe today.
Swore up and down that I almost died.

I gathered clothes up off the floor today.
Complaining of no help, of off-hand excuses, and white lies.

I washed dishes today.
Mumbling about the lack of soap used around the house.

I stepped on a barbie today.
I threw it on a pile, wondering if I would next find a mouse in all this mess.

I cooked dinner today.
It was your favorite, and you ate it all, I found your dishes (yet again) in the sink.

I picked you up from school today.
You talked and I listened, but when I opened my mouth to speak, you had music in your head.

I put you to bed tonight.
You told me to shut the door and turn off the light.

I went to my room
And opened a drawer
And found letters and colored pictures
Given to me by you before.

And I realized what I now know is the truth.
I wasn't cleaning up a mess
I was piecing together parts of you.