Spring Cleaning After Eden
In a perfect world, homes clean themselves.
There are no epic battles waged between
dust and vacuum cleaners, mud and mops,
order and chaos. Who could live in such
a place, she wonders as she thinks of Eden,
how her hands were idle, how she tiptoed
through a home she never felt she owned.
Here, the clutter’s hers and hers alone
to clear. She is the savior of this home –
the one who sweeps the cat hair, scrubs the stains
that mar her countertops, fills up the trash,
with yesterday’s mistakes – the empty bag
of potato chips, the crumpled letters
of apology the size of fists,
the bitten apple core that’s turning umber.
She fills the trash and Adam rises up
from his Easy Chair, lets out a grunt
and takes it to the curb. His work is done.
Eve puts her hands on hips and heaves a sigh,
declares this tidy paradise their own.
by Katie Hoerth
Editor’s Note: The blank verse of this poem slips into the reader’s mind with ease, supporting the narrative’s easy lesson.