Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The Arrangement

The Arrangement

Something is different, what is it.
The couch has wandered to the left
side of the room. The ceiling fan
has been cleaned, the stucco of dust
scraped from each blade. The light bulbs
have been switched. They are whiter,
more radiant. You swept. You sat
on the floor, grinding a sponge into
the linoleum, convinced that the stains
were beginning to loosen. You bleached
the floor. Something smells like apples
in the house, you have been cleaning.
Or baking. Or drinking. Your hair,
is that what it is. You never wear it like
that, the top half pinned back into
what do you call that. Or your eyelashes,
you tinted them. It’s your appendix,
isn’t it, you have had it removed.
Or you slept more hours than usual,
no nightmare about the cats escaping.
Whatever it is, I love it, keep doing it.


  1. This made me smile. I love the phrase "stucco of dust"; wish it were my own.

  2. We just cleaned the stucco of dust from a fan -- it did involve scraping. I love the way this poem brings out the effects of cleaning on the home and the people in it.


The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.