Time to Clean
She wasn’t extraordinary, my extraordinary self,
for the measure of her accomplishments. Rather,
her visions were operatic, symphonic, and robust.
It was her effort’s tenor, its deep vibrating notes
that made those plans appear unique. And yet
so much broken glass, so much mess in endeavor.
So many busted enamel shards, rusted cables,
antique lamps collecting dust. The unused spools
of twine, boxes of glue, parts for builds abandoned.
Piles of books, face-down and dog-eared,
then forgotten. So much everything
and so much nothing—enthusiasm multiplied
and left to molder in humid air: A warehouse
for unrealized dreams. Simply put, it was time
to clean. But it was difficult for her to let go:
We were crows chasing each other from the trees—
clarion in our anger. All around our home,
broken spider silk drifted in the breeze.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Mother Wound by Gauri Awasthi - November 13, 2026
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