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