Still Life


sometimes my whole world becomes
the piece in progress
letting the dishes pile up,
the sheets develop a certain sheen
and go limp
i marvel at it all
as drifts of doggie hair tumble weeds
form along the edges of everything
and i make tea in the soft
ringing silence.
My partner is unknowing co-creator,
or perhaps he is right here with me on this
noticing that i am not demanding
anything
but to be left
alone to it.
a paradox,
My brother’s house
on Friendship Drive
was spotless in the end.
death came to this pristine palette
and left its mark.
and now a whole new life blooms there
in the dust.