Redefining Cleaning As Cathartic

Today I vacuumed right into the corners.

Suck.

Suck.

Suck away

all the dust and hair I have lived in.

I died this year.

In April, I died.

She took my body away in her arms.

There was no plastic black sack, 

no shiny zip from a rusty factory.

In her arms.

Carried me.

All the way to her mother's house

and cried for me.

I could see and hear it all.

I felt it all.

I was still and cooling,

shaking still where nerves were warm.

And she was holding me,

calling me,

crying but saying it'd be okay.

There weren't even Xes where there were periods

when she was telling me she'd be waiting

and I was saying I was on my way.

No 'I love you's. (No deserving them.)

I had stopped breathing; I had died.

I missed breakfast.

I didn't miss the train.

Today I vacuumed right into the corners.

Suck.

Suck.

Suck away

all the dust and hair I have lived in.

I died this year.

In April, I died.