Musing

(I had started writing a new collection of poetry in 2020, just before COVID hit, to have been titled: "Moving On." I never finished it, and no longer have the desire to. Still, I wrote these and there's no reason not to share them.)

You don't like how I handle laundry.

I don't like how you handle dishes and trash.

Still, we get along.

We frustrate each other,

But we handle it with respect and patience.

God, you must have it in spades.

Moving on sometimes feels like old times.

Like when I'd wash something of his by mistake

And then he couldn't find it for weeks

Because I rarely put anything away.

I even remember how

I had to make him a diagram

When I reorganized the cabinets while he was away.

I see so much of him in you,

And I think sometimes he does, too.

I think he sees what he could be, could have in time.

I wonder if that's why he started trying?