The Housewife

House holds me…

my rough loves

          and grubby feet

my fingers that have

          combed the garden bare

my unbound breasts

          and twiggy hair

my naked face

          as plain as stone

my spicy breath

          and tea-stained towels

my paint that oozes from the tubes

          and gums the carpet Prussian Blue

my shedding cat

          my dusty books

my mounds of poems

          thick as snow

my bones and nests

          and snarled vines

my frayed, untidy clothes.

In return, I sweep the hearth,

          fill the teapot, rake the leaves,

rub the windows till they shine,

          keep the gutters clean,

stoke the fires, feed the birds,

          prune the roses, all pest-free,

and love the house

          that holds me.

                                             e. yon

This poem found a home in Beauty For Ashes Poetry Review.

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