Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.128

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	All week she's cleaned someone else's house, stared down her own face in the shine of copper-- bottomed pots, polished wood, toilets she'd pull the lid to--that look saying Let's make a change, girl. But Sunday mornings are hers-- church clothes starched and hanging, a record spinning on the console, the whole house dancing. She raises the shades, washes the rooms in light, buckets of water, Octagon soap. Cleanliness is next to godliness ... Windows and doors flung wide, curtains two-stepping forward and back, neck bones bumping in the pot, a choir of clothes clapping on the line. Nearer my God to Thee ... She beats time on the rugs, blows dust from the broom like dandelion spores, each one a wish for something better.
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required