a good thing

the woman sweeps
all day.
starting in the back
room
working her way
towards
the front of the house,
pushing out
the cobwebs,
brushing
the dirt and dust
into a pan,
her arms move
from side
to side, lifting
her hand
to wipe her brow.
it helps her think,
this sweeping, to
remember things
about her life, how
fast it's gone,
how love has won
and broken her heart.
but there is no
end to this, this
sweeping, she thinks.
and that's a good
thing.