the walk to the curb
feels longer with
a full bin of
trash

& a rainfall

i think of strange hands
doing this for me

i think of fresh sheets
hanging in the yard on a
clothesline too heavy to lift

i don’t feel my own hands
do anything now
but know they
are there

when the bin comes
back empty

Filed under: NPM, poems Tagged: commitment, exhausted, home, labour, love, poem, poetry, women