Thank God for menial chores. ~A. Florette Strickland, 1901-1981
The broom whisks back and forth
chasing particles of dirt and leaf litter back outside.
Thank God for menial chores.
Memories cradle my sorrow
In the quiet space where there is no silence.
Thank God for menial chores, my grandmother said.
Sweep the floor, cook the rice, pay the bill, fax the letter.
Choreograph emotion into a dance of grace
because of,
in spite of,
the fact that I am still standing among the living.
On to my menial chores,
where I can meet my grandmother and my father
in the quiet.
