The Thousands of Us Who Clean Shit Off the Floor by Sarah Mackey Kirby

The Thousands of Us Who Clean Shit Off the Floor

I don’t drink into the night
like Bukowski, etching “Bluebird”
into the literary canon as
a breathtaking fuck you to
the elbow patch cocktail parties
and academic writing conventions.
I’ve never lived dangerously
or marched to the drum
of a drummer in some
indie band lighting
cigarettes by the dozens.

I am one of thousands
tucked behind an old porch,
behind brick,
on a street lined with
joggers, barking dogs,
and magnolia blossoms
drooping into fall.
I clean shit off the floor
when my momma can’t
get to the bathroom in time
and her Depends aren’t enough.

I write only before the morning light
and stop to pour divided medicines
into a cup, get her coffee,
make her yogurt, stir powdered fiber
into ice-cold ginger ale,
help her onto a shower chair,
wash her feet.

Writing, itself, is rebellion.
Against the monotony,
the daily navigation
of another’s confusion
and memory jumbles.
Driving her to doctors.
Waiting during tests and surgeries.
Making sure her dinner
is hot, but not too hot.

I am no saint. No one to
feel sorry for. And
I am no outsider. It’s
been years since I’ve
worn black knee-high boots
with a leather skirt
and gone out dancing.
I am one of thousands
lost inside this love.

We live in the crevices,
folding laundry once
stained with tomato soup.
We hug as tightly as we can.
Because the only thing more
heartbreaking than this hell
will be the day hell ends.

*

Sarah Mackey Kirby was born and raised among fat bumble bees and redbud trees in Louisville, Kentucky. She taught middle and high school social studies, which brought her incredible joy and hilarious moments. Her poems appear in Chiron Review, ONE ART, Ploughshares, Third Wednesday Magazine, and elsewhere. She’s the author of the poetry collection, The Taste of Your Music (Impspired, 2021) She loves to cook, dig in garden dirt, and root for University of Louisville basketball. Find Sarah’s work at https://smkirby.com/