The Sharpness of Calm

I.

Two used acupuncture needles 

stabbed their way 

into my fingers

while wiping spilled grain

and birdseed

from her kitchen counter. 

In shock, 

I shook my hand away,

drops of blood 

and the sharpness of calm

fell to the grimy linoleum floor. 

II. 

She leaves her work lying around

among her disorder,

a mess we’re paid to pick up

in a house that will never feel clean. 

The dirt is glued to the framework, 

embedded in each 

small groove of the beams. 

III. 

I imagine her sitting on the couch

in the dusty, wide open room,

scattered with toys

trying to lightly stab

the chaos away. 

IV.

She is a contradiction

of relaxation and biohazard

as we leave her in the wake 

of her havoc.