off the tracks

she sweeps
and sweeps. there is something
on her hand
that won't come off.
she stands at the sink
running water
over her hands,
rubbing.
she touches the corner
of each table
then circles back to
do it once more,
stepping carefully
away from the lines in
the tile.
she takes her cat
and goes sits in the closet
while we work.
a crease of light
falls against them from
the nearly shut
door.
somewhere the train
has gone off the tracks.