"Now to home without looking back, enough is enough."
-Jim Harrison from the poem, Broom, published in Songs of Unreason
It's all part of my day to sweep morning breakfast crumbs
out the south facing slider onto the melting snow fringed in ice
where grass will be soon
where the fallen pines you carved into garden posts
stand guard in formation.
A walk to the mailbox slosh and slop in mud puddles,
eyes up to the treetops searching for bird signs
finch calls summoning spring,
beckoning me to do more cleaning.
As if the swish of my broom, the pass of my hand
on the slope of the tub like the back of a whale
can wash away the winter heavy grief
still clinging to my goulashes.