Half the Earth Faces the Sun
Shirts bras overalls spin round
and round. Through a glass circle
I stare at a cycle of sleeves socks
straps suds, lose myself in the tangle,
look for a trail, any trail,
to find myself in the labyrinth’s eye
as he stomps in bickering.
Our usual rounds of what
do we do if I die. What
do you mean we I ask.
We’ve made the rounds
of specialists, my mortal flesh
revolving on a spit for docs spitting
out options, other options, more
options, more to sort and launder
but right now all I can manage
is this big load making its rounds.
I glance outside at the dogs circling
round a bone. My husband flicks
his old green Duncan from his jeans,
untwists the string, twirls that yo-yo,
judders a walk-the-doggy, flashes
a flawless ‘round-the-world.
Our clothes now clean,
we set up a round
for the night.
Mikki Aronoff has recent poems that can be found in Silver Birch Press, Watermelon Isotope, EastLit, Rise Up Review, Trumped! riverbabble, and Value: Stories, Essays & Poems by Women of a Certain Age. Retired, she finds herself dancing with words and pictures and is also involved in animal advocacy.