Busy

The air is full of some pheromone
desirous of order. I am driven, anxiously
washing floors and windows, straightening
the linen closet. My cats flee the vaccum
created in my wake. Young men's minds
turn to fancy but mine is riveted to dusting,
swabbing, scouring.

I am a bird, heavy with eggs.
I am a bee, coveting pollen.
I am a bear, lean with Winter,
in love with Spring.


A bit light, but sort of fun, after all that sorrow and angst.