Put Down the Broom, Open a Window

THERE IN THAT CORNER, BY THE KITCHEN DOOR

Why does the dust settle there,
In that corner, by the kitchen door?
You sweep it away, but it returns,
Collecting at the edges of your life.
Can’t you see the currents you stir,
The wake you leave as you trudge
Through yet another musty day?
The dust settles and whispers
In the corner by the kitchen door,
“When will she notice this time?
How long before she sweeps
Everything away?” A clean sweep.
Look closer. Dust clings there
To the chair leg, and there on
The third stair, and there
In the corner, another corner,
Against the cold north wall,
Just a wisp still, not like there
In that corner, by the kitchen door.

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