le Martel

Clatter from the kitchen would wake me,

Metal pots at 4:00 am she tried to hush,

Water in a cleaning bucket,

Odor of bleach.

The kitchen light elongated

Down the dark hall

Drew a line below my door—
 

The line louder than the pots

That might have fallen

Into disorder, possibly dusty,

The unused ones in back.
I didn’t burden her with inquiry

Or knowledge that her restlessness had woken me again—
 

          What are you doing?

          Why aren’t you in bed?
 

Every cabinet emptied, utensils piled,

Held accountable

The daily, the obscure, justifying use.

A roll of clean shelf paper,

Flowers for the spring.

She wrote dates on bags of food scraps

Frozen in wait for garbage day.

The sound would abate by sunrise,

Cleaning water recede.

I’d wake to a spot of toothpaste on my brush,

A grapefruit quartered, with a cherry,

Daily Bread and Reader’s Digest, large print,

As if casually arranged.

As if it all came easily,

Like her chocolate cake

I learned to make

From scratch.

July, 2012