Day 312: The Forgotten One

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now the bed is tidied,
and you’ve put the socks away
and the lines of the rug

are neat

against the wood grained floor.

 

and you feel glad
and grateful
that the big mess is over.

it’s over

it’s over.

 

but where did you flit
the forgotten one?

the disposed bauble
made of dust and dreams

that entertained and broke for you –

that made happy the cracks –
and smiles in the fissure –
and leaked balm
by udders
pressured.

that salve is too slippery –
like whale fat on a deck –
to be left in trim houses.

 

have you swept it far enough off?
have you shook it from the linens
and beat if from the drapes,

that it could float again
free
from the scrutiny
of all that cleaning?

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