We live in a blue house now, two
I roast chickens and mash potatoes
In our house we ration affection
We have divided it all to this
When I sleep it is to the wet grind
I can't remember the last time
In dreams I stand over them
I wake when it is quiet
When I pull out of bed again,
And I pray that this day I will
©: 1995 Jael Bietsch
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big trees, hedges in front of windows.
And the back yard is always
Autumn with leaves. We put up a swing.
in my kitchen. Everynight
I set the table after work. We must
remember to pray. (I pray
for rememberance).
to morning and good bye and good night,
like piles of possessions:
his, hers and my
laundry. Wanting to give away
the putting away of it.
here, now. Everything is in its right
place. Cinnamon-sugar in
a red shaker.
of the dishwasher churning soap
into my stoneware. The bump of the dryer
and the vaporizer breathing something
better into her air.
I felt myself real. I can't remember
the last time I saw myself
in the mirror. And when I sleep,
he is still watching David Letterman.
while they sleep, making lists
of things to remember:
her lunch and my glasses
flour
turn off the coffee
blue pills for the headaches
green pills to keep the others unborn
not to be impatient, harsh or tired.
to put out the cat
and retuck my daugher. And again
to let in the cat, who cries
at my window like a lost child
" hey mama." I retuck my daughter.
I add to my list to tell the doctor how
my shoulders ache and how my fingers hurt
from typing names and birthdates and salaries
eight hours to a day.
And I pray to remember the words.
push out of bed to yellow
trees and dusty sunshine.
And most of all, I pray
for the words.
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March 8, 2000