There’s always something
to tidy up,
something to put away,
something to return
to its place,
something soiled to wash,
something laundered to fold,
a cup in the sink,
a sock on the floor,
the shoes by the door,
compost, recycling
to take out.

There’s always something,
she says clenching
her teeth,
talking about her
daughter’s wisdoms
which need to be
which would seem
the least of her
since she cannot
lift her arm
to brush
her own.