A bowl of popcorn tipped over to
release hundreds, maybe tens,
of hot, white clouds of corn
over the woolen area rug.
The broom, last used to dust up
after a long haired cat, already
overburdened with irregular sweeps,
pushed nothing into the dust pan.
On hands and knees then,
loose fibers from the rug and
life shards shred from the couch
became alarmingly conspicuous.
Vacuuming over the daily life
a few days before meant to
pick up the dirt, failed miserably.
It appeared clean. And company came.
Corralling this spill carefully not to disturb
the delinquent debris visible just now,
perhaps, was meant to live in perpetuity as
a reminder that not all that is left
is meant to be forgotten. Clean is wiped out
as some dirt clings so as to cultivate
hybrid strength and a new varietal
from what had been left behind.
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