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Josephine Clare
day like spring in thick of winter. turn down the thermostat preserve energy the air is too balmy for a crisis today perfect for making love all day long. but the problem remains "how can housework be made into a creative activity?" objects that are cherished are born of an intimate light they attain to a higher degree of reality than indifferent objects. daily at eight the housewife awakens furniture that was asleep. is there a single woman or man who does not respond to the word wardrobe? so white your sheet white as the moon on the wintry meadow. imagine every morning every object in the house would issue from our hands. things become crystallisations of our weakness but a bit more polishing and we have something quite different. sit in corners & see how old the world has grown how worn. common sense lives on the ground floor same level as everybody passers-by. you want to write? either go down into the basement or upstairs.
maybe i am crazy, since probable nobody else
is up, at 3 a m,eating chicken gizzards
and reading raymond chandler
after having gone thru all the mail that's hung around
for the past ten years, cutting off stamps
for anna's kid's collection. i found out, anyway,
that joan o'malley for ten years never used stamps
w/ pictures, but only those purple threes
(it was threes then). which goes to show you.
i have carefully avoided mention of any harpies
that might still be on the firescape. i meticulously throw out old
dried out rubber bands. if i can manage it
i'll pull out the bed & put on a fitted sheet
not that you'll notice, one way or the other
in the littered kitchen
rubbing dirty pots and hot
i think of swimming
still cold dark-green water
where I move somehow
(a poor swimmer)
then of that other
plunging rising
from the messy heat
of pots food talk without
leaving them -
meditation
but how do that
rising plunging while
scrubbing hot
how love my pots my