There’s an ongoingness
to the upkeep of living,
solo performance to empty
the dish rack, return knives
to the dark of drawers,
rinse yesterday off my face.
How humble dust keeps me
no matter my accomplishments
I wake with fermented breath
and am caught in ceremony
flossing my gums pink,
daily excursion in maintenance—
my mother’s favorite word
in English from the French
to hold fast or keep, as in
keep your word or keep track
of birthdays, anniversaries, next month’s rent
or keep my hand in your hand, keep faith
when air is no longer air
but elegy of a burning tree
my mother calls her beloveds
salaam, khuda hafiz, she says
with such devotion
the cat licks its hind legs
until space between duty and pleasure disappears.
I want to be that animal
so present, I forget beauty
beyond the shapes I make.