New Years Day

Every New Years is cleaning day.
As the sun rises
She wakes to the pines and iced windows
A woman pained
Parts her eyes and stretches a swan’s throat
Eyes deadly sharp
Prepares coffees the partner never remembers
A nighttime decision
She drinks deeply and will ignore the dust.
To fill deep waters
The littered counters and clogged sink will wait.
Float in her mind
Energy percolates as she faces the mirror
Choices rendered
The screws are right under her parted skin
Logical progressions
It doesn’t hurt to remove them, the nerves
Exercise employed
might be dead. The screws lay in her palm,
Therapy completed
The head comes off, lefty-loosey, a child proof
Prescription Written
med bottle. Now she’s backward, and must note
Medicine bags held
righty-tighty. A minute or two is all it takes,
attempt to be happy
cleaning day is swift when bleach is employed.

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