On cleaning- a self

Many a times in life we tell ourselves
“I’m trying to pick the pieces of myself out of the floor”
but the very act of it,
the picking of those pieces of our hearts and of our pasts
can be literal too.

It can be the folding of clothes with shaking fingers
and sorting in this way
memories and gifts
lost love and remembrance of what we once considered great
of the person that we were that we can never be again
of the friendly words once said to the altar of our appearance, of our grace.

It can be the cleaning of the dishes
and with that, the cleansing of the worries that wrap themselves around us,
the dish soap- the sacrifice to a more orderly tomorrow.

Even the task of trying to find a recipe to make
in altering that which we find, to suit those who in life we call our friends
in making that which is considered chore a thing of care and pleasure
is in some ways a sharp knife of creativity and hope amongst our lives.

And those tasks repeat with a cyclic certainty
become a base upon our lives, a labyrinth of our own creation
but one that we know well, a thread to follow to the awaited exit
not only of the tasks but of that which we disdain
and in the way there, many a painting on the walls we find
and many a friend we talk with late at night
in the wonderful journey we call life
so let us pick a piece off of the floor tonight.


Hades M. Dourma (she/they) is poet and university student trying to explore hope in situations that may seem hopeless. In the mundanity of everyday life and in the middle of disaster both.