for Twiglet #14

Twiglet #14

March, Wind Gusts Up To 45

It’s time to clean, again.
I’m poor at cleaning, don’t understand
where all that dust comes from.
The cat hair–that makes sense.
And the husband-hair and mine. Outside,
the dry March wind is abrading
the tail of winter, polishing
its ancient departing butt, and good
riddance. The air, though, is gritty
with emery and dead cells, bodies
of thingies that once sort of swam.
There was a great sea, rich with tiny sea
monsters. The new garden center
container with diatomaceous earth
inside cautions against inhaling
the contents. Remember the way its sharp
multitudinous skeletons treat slugs
and think of soft alveoli. Don’t
forget your eye protection. All
the world out there is shedding dust,
promising to renovate
when the tenants are gone. Where, indoors,
does all that shed mortality come
from? Not the ceiling
or windows or walls.



    1. Right at the moment, nothing but rain. And glad to see it. February ought to be wet and cold, and it was neither. A shame to feel down about fine weather, but there you are. I’m actually elated by the dismal morning.


      1. We’re expecting rain tomorrow but the temperature won’t drop. We’re also expecting the plumber tomorrow who’ll drain the heating system and put new thermostats on the radiators. A day without water is always a challenge.


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