(escapril, day 1: a fresh start)

She skins the onion with practiced ease,

Nail under crackly brown skin, a swift jerk of removal, repeat twice.

Then onto the next.

When she’s done and they’re sizzling in the pan, she peels an orange.

Sweet citrus juice keeps her nailbeds sweet

And the dog likes to eats the rind.

Cleaning is quick now.

She’s been here long enough.

She knows every nook and cranny of the big old house, knows where candy wrappers are stuffed and old cigarettes carelessly dropped. She’s careful of loose tiles and worn wood and ragged ends and she never forgets to dust the desk in the corner of the study.

She walks the dog along the river,

Smiling at the calls of fruit vendors and the giggles of girls flirting for a better price and the gnarled old man picking up polished rocks from the shore.

Nothing bad ever happens inside these walls.

In a few hours, she’ll pick the kids up from school, walk them home, listen to their chatter

Give them warm beds and full bellies and clean scalps and a kind ear and they’ll be alright without the mother’s touch.

They’re good kids.

She says good night to the Mister when he sneaks in half past ten

And walks herself home through mildewed streets.

She lies in bed, watches her chest rise and fall as she dips into sleep-

Today is done. Tomorrow’s coming soon.