Because my heart is aching,
I clean the stove. It’s covered
in dark brown stains, stains
so burned on they seem
to be part of the stainless steel.
Because I am practical, I wear
plastic gloves while I scour.
I know that the cleaner
would ripple my fingers and dry
my skin for days. And because
I would rather not cry right now,
I turn on my music and play
Joni Mitchell as loud as the speakers
will play. She always knows
just what to say. There are some
places now where the stovetop gleams
so silver it looks nearly new. There
are some stains I know, that no matter
how many hours I scrub,
they will never leave.