Brooms

I wrote this poem last year, when I had just arrived to live in Chiang Mai. Amnat and I were living in a one-room apartment with cable tv and a broom, and not much else. I'd write a poem about the cable tv, but it wouldn't interest you.

Sweeping was one of the pleasantest things in my day. Last week we bought a new broom, having worn out the old one cleaning the much larger house that we now live in. I was reminded of the poem. I hope you enjoy it and the pictures of the beautiful woman who sold us our new grass broom.



Each morning
I sweep our room.

Barefoot
on cool tile
bent over a short bamboo broom.

Soft grass on glassy tile
silently scoots
tufts of fuzz onto the balcony.

In the yard,
another woman sweeps.

Collecting leaves
from the gravel
with stiff spines on a long bamboo broom.

Fwoosh Fwoosh Fwoosh

Slowly sweeping
in quiet unison.