It's Hard to Keep a Clean Shirt Clean
Poem for Sriam Shamasunder
And All of Poetry for the People
It’s
a sunlit morning
with
jasmine blooming
easily
and
a drove of robin redbreasts
diving
into the ivy covering
what
used to be
a
backyard fence
or
doves shoving aside
the
birch tree leaves
when
a
young man walks among
the
flowers
to
my doorway
where
he knocks
then
stands still
brilliant
in a clean white shirt
He
lifts a soft fist
to
that door
and
knocks again
He’s
come to say this
was
or that
was
not
and
what’s
anyone
of us to do
about
what’s done
what’s
past
but
prickling salt to sting
our
eyes
What’s
anyone of us to do
about
what’s done
And
7-month-old Bingo
puppy
leaps
and
hits
that
clean white shirt
with
muddy paw
prints
here
and
here and there
And
what’s anyone of us to do
about
what’s done
I
say I’ll wash the shirt
no
problem
two
times through
the
delicate blue cycle
of
an old machine
the
shirt spins in the soapy
suds
and spins in rinse
and
spins
and
spins out dry
not
clean
still
marked by accidents
by
energy of whatever serious or trifling cause
the
shirt stays dirty
from
that puppy’s paws
I
take that fine white shirt
from
India
the
threads as soft as baby
fingers
weaving them
together
and
I wash that shirt
between
between
the knuckles of my own
two
hands
I
scrub and rub that shirt
to
take the dirty
markings
out
At
the pocket
and
around the shoulder seam
and
on both sleeves
the
dirt the paw
prints
tantalize my soap
my
water my sweat
equity
invested
in the restoration
of
a clean white shirt
And
on the eleventh try
I
see no more
no
anything unfortunate
no
dirt
I
hold the limp fine
cloth
between
the faucet stream
of
water as transparent
as
a wish the moon stayed out
all
day
How
small it has become!
That
clean white shirt!
How
delicate!
How
slight!
How
like a soft fist knocking on my door!
And
now I hang the shirt
to
dry
as
slowly as it needs
the
air
to
work its way
with
everything
It’s
clean.
A
clean white shirt
nobody
wanted to spoil
or
soil
that
shirt
much
cleaner now but also
not
the same
as
the first before that shirt
got
hit got hurt
not
perfect
anymore
just
beautiful
a
clean white shirt
It’s
hard to keep a clean shirt clean.