Sharon Lowe
Just keep wiping down the counter
in slow circles,
turning the rag over and over,
wringing lemons dry above the surface,
and squeezing the gray into a pail.
No one will notice
when you suddenly reverse course,
throw in the occasional wild figure eight,
or simply move on, unseen.
So you might as well enjoy yourself—now.
And what might they notice?
Some may see the counter gleaming brightly,
Smile, and then, breathe deeply,
as if for the first time.
Some may sense the long, dull pilgrimage of their day
pausing in a cool grove of blossoming citrus trees.
And maybe—just maybe,
someone will recognize this place
of dancing rags
and grayness wiped clean
as the place of their resurrection.
