On a Saturday afternoon, 
When the sun is out, and the sky is bright blue, 
I’m in the house stuck again. 
All alone and dancing in my room, 
With a vacuum in hand. 

I remember your face and the things that you said. 
You don’t remember of course, 
But I’ll never forget. 
Now I’ll dance with my vacuum instead of with you. 

I open the window to let in some fresh air. 
Make my way down the three flights of stairs.
Just to wash all the laundry, I see images of you 
In my mind, they taunt me. 
Loading the clothes bit by bit, 
I wash them and you as I close the lid. 

Carrying my soap and basket 
Back up the stairs, it’s not so bad I say, 
Carrying the weight of my fears. 
The weight of the years, the ones spent.
The time wasted that I won’t get back. 

Into the kitchen now, here I go. 
A sink full of dishes is waiting for me. 
They’ve been there forever, just like I waited for you. 
Those dishes can’t sit much longer, 
We can’t live that way. 
Soak them in suds, watch it go down the drain. 

Turn around now, and I stare at the floor. 
Bits and crumbs, tiny pieces on the tile.
The walls close in, and I feel the pressure.
Grabbing the broom hardly even remembering your smile. 
Sweeping myself off my feet as I sweep the kitchen,
You’d be silly to think I even miss you a smidgen. 

Hot water now fills up a bucket. 
Another romantic date with my mop.
This is what I signed up for, 
It’s exactly what I wanted. 
Did you think I’d be your little puppet?
You had them lined up. 
No use for me. 
The truth would have been good. 
Or maybe even sympathy. 
Dirty mop water, pour it all out. 
Like I did with my heart, 
And you flushed it all down.
Not a care in the world, you don’t hear a single sound. 

I make. 
There’s a pot on the stove, 
It’s been cooking all day. 
Stirring and stirring, daydreaming as I go my own way. 
Who is better at stirring the pot? 
Is it me or is it you? 
Because it’s not just myself who I need to feed, 
But the little one who is relying on me. 

What is a bathroom break when you must clean the bathroom? 
Bleach, baking soda, and mini cleaning brushes, 
Are part of my auxiliary. 
It’s standard for the code, luxury is forebode.
Don't get caught taking a breather. 
Scrubbing the shower, I scour and scour. 
Pretending I could scrub you just the same, 
But off of my skin. 

Dusting the shelves and little knick knacks is part of the routine. 
When cleaning the home, I’m also cleaning me! 
I polish the floors, while you polish your whores. 
When I caress the dishes, you are giving kisses. 
I wash the tub, and I dry the puddles. 
Reminiscent of the time when I wasn’t sitting in a muddle. 

What touch feels like now is a mystery to me. 
But then again, so are communication, respect, and boundaries.
The night comes fast, almost too quickly. 
I still have one task to complete swiftly. 
On top of the cooking and cleaning, I take out the trash. 
Symbolic, I think, as I laugh and I laugh. 
The house is sparkly and gleaming. 

But a repair needs to be made, so I’ve learned how to do it. 
I do your job now since you’re not around. 
I don’t mind it at all, in fact, it’s quite profound. 
The things you’ve taught me just by disappearing, I find quite endearing. 

While you’re out nailing and screwing, I’m doing the same. 
The only difference is the things you nail and screw actually breathe and have a name.