That day
when housework seemed the most loving act
of violence,
the best way to channel
creative destruction,
deep yearning restlessness and anger
provoked in a fury of sweeping,
a silent scratching at the pans,
a ripping asunder of bedclothes and the front hall…
the voices kept strident companionship,
carpet of history dusty underfoot,
shining taps of vision revealed
and even briefly washing away the grime.