Somehow polishing silverware that is never used
freshens me, removes some of the tiredness I feel,
the grief that is hovering, not yet realized, but hovering
it is true
I do things that make no real sense, leaving tasks that
should be done, but are left undone,
like the children that should arrive, but do not.
The silverware sits on a hard bed of baking soda
waiting for a second soak to
clean away the rest of this tarnish
even then, it never truly disappeared.
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