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What Doesn't Feel Like Work
Dirty diapers and backed up toilet
Dishes that grind together in the sink
Stains on clothes, look like dried blood
Pumpkins leak their fluids
Over steps of the front porch
Their faces sunken, mouths closed
I am grateful to be moving
Things and myself around
Work of breathing deeply
Work of putting down that dish
Hugging my daughter
Love to work my fingers through my son's hair
Rub his back
Doesn't feel like work
Published in The Lone Wolf Review (2000)
©2000 Sue Kunitz
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The Poetry of Sue Kunitz