Left alone in my mother’s house, I clean:
clear dishes, fill the washer, measure soap.
Its humming fills the kitchen and I hunt
for silver polish to clean now-tarnished spoons
that someone gave her on her wedding day.
There’s so much to do
but not enough to make me stop
(thinking of you)
until I see my own eyes staring back
from the round hollow of a shining spoon.