And Not Push Any of It Away
The way the morning sun
in the kitchen shows up all the fingerprints
on the cupboards
and casts shadows past
every crumb on the floor—
isn’t it like that,
a woman who once
begged for more light
only to see, as the light
grew, so many messes
that had gone unseen.
That is not how she’d
told herself it would be.
Perhaps this is
part of what she sees,
not only the mess,
but the one who thinks
she must do something.